


About Time

by largoindminor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rimming, Smut, Wincest - Freeform, slight crossover, supernatural/doctor who crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:23:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/largoindminor/pseuds/largoindminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are finishing up a hunt in a cemetery when they encounter a different kind of angel. They get separated when Sam gets sent back to early 20th century, and Dean is desperate to get back to him. With a little help from a mysterious stranger, Dean gets back to (roughly) the same time and Sam and they struggle to get back home while dealing with their feelings for one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time on tumblr I saw [ this post ](http://largoindminor.tumblr.com/post/99812391368/so-now-i-really-want-a-spn-who-crossover-where) and it plot bunnied all over me. Sam and Dean. A little weeping angel action. A little Doctor intervention. A little angst. A little lovin'. You know. 
> 
> I'm only posting part of this to start. The story's finished, it's all written, just haven't had a chance to go over any of it, so need a little more time to get it all together. 
> 
> I don't have a beta, so apologies for mistakes in spelling, grammar, plot, etc. But I hope you enjoy it regardless.
> 
> Come visit me [ here ](http://sasquatchandleatherjacket.tumblr.com/) on my all supernatural tumblr for more stuff.
> 
> Comments are always lovely. Thank you so much for checking this out!

To say it had been a long day would have been a rather unforgivable understatement. The morning had started out simple enough, a little investigation, some interviews, a bit of chasing, the usual. Things started to fall apart in the late afternoon, however, and by dusk they were on the other side of three broken fingers, one cracked rib, two more victims, thirteen stitches, and one very near miss. Sam and Dean were exhausted and damn irritable. Unfortunately, things were just starting to go sideways.

Nightfall found them on familiar ground; hallowed ground to be precise, deep into a very large and very old cemetery in central Georgia. There was a corpse to unearth, some salt to spill, and a fire to set. That should have been the end of it, hard won but simple enough. But Sam had a keen eye for things that were out of place and a pretty deep seated paranoia at times, which, really, he was going to have to get under control after the debacle it was about to set off. 

They walked through the cemetery almost leisurely, though not for lack of urgency. The air was heavy and thick under the weight of summer's last days, and hurrying would have been unpleasant, no matter how necessary. Sweat ran uncomfortably down their backs as they wove in and out of the aisles of headstones, mausoleums and stone carvings.

Twenty minutes in they reached their destination, the modest grave of a civil war captain whose spirit had been terrorizing families in the lake houses just outside of town. The haunting culminated earlier in the day when they discovered a retired couple trapped and drowning beneath their own dock. Dean dove under in an attempt to free them from the trap, but managed only a mangled left hand and a cracked rib for his efforts. Sam had pulled him out with only seconds to spare, taking a gash to his arm from a rusty fishing hook in the process. The old couple was lost.

They'd gone back to the motel dejected, their only clue being a reconstruction era coin found on the dock. But Sam researched take his mind off the pain of Dean stitching him up (sloppily and one handed), and eventually found the evidence that led them here. 

Dean's useless hand and aching rib earned him the position of supervisor for the evening, which basically meant manning the flashlight. Once the coffin was cracked open, Dean reached down to offer his hand to Sam, wincing slightly in pain as he helped Sam up, then poured a healthy amount of salt and lighter fluid over the remains and dropped in the flaming matches. He watched the flames for a moment, glassy eyed and tired, before he had to close his eyes against the searing heat. All he wanted in the word at that moment was to get back to the cool air conditioned air of the motel.

“Shaked and baked, let's roll.” he turned and said to… no one, apparently.

Dean turned more and spotted Sam about fifteen feet away, stooped over and peering at a statue in front of him. _Great_ Dean thought, rolling his eyes and walking over.

“Well?” Dean asked.

Sam looked up at him, lips pressed together and forehead wrinkled in clear concentration. “This statue. It's weird, right? It's just in such a weird place, like someone's moved it. The ground around it is different from the others, see?” he said, gesturing to the figured feet.

Sam was right, the cemetery was filled with stone carvings of angels, but most were set upon pedestals, while this one seemed to be… just standing there.

“And look here,” Sam continued, pointing to a circular symbol carved on the angel's arm, “it look’s like someone’s vandalized it. Almost like-” he stopped speaking and pulled out his phone to snap a few photos of the statue.

Dean tried to be patient, he did, he hated feeling irritated with Sam, who was only doing- always doing- what he thought was best. But his patience was thin. “Jesus, Sam, really? Can’t we be done here? Old captain whatisname’s up in flames. And I’m sweatin’ my ass off. Don’t tell me you wanna stick around here to look into some graveyard graffiti? This is nothin’.”

“No. Well, yeah you’re right. Probably. These symbols though, I haven’t seen anything like them before and… It’s just, maybe we could stay another day? I just, this just seems off to me, like something’s not right. You know, we could just stick around another day. Wouldn't hurt. Make sure this hasn't got anything to do with the hauntings? It’s not like we never tagged the wrong spirit before. I’d just, I’d feel a lot better if we stuck around to make sure we really put this situation to bed.”

Dean kicked at the soft ground in front of him. _Of course, Sam, bring up some other times I fucked up, since I don’t feel bad enough about tonight already_. “Oh _you_ would feel better? Huh. Well, by all means. We’ll stick around and make sure I didn’t screw up again.”

Sam realized too late how Dean had taken that comment, “No, I didn’t mean… if anything _I_... Dean sor-” He stopped abruptly and spun around to face a large weeping willow tree and a faint rustling noise. Dean heard the noise too, and aimed his flashlight in the direction of the low hanging branches. The rustling noise had stopped, and all they could hear was the continuous chirp of crickets and cicadas. There was a flash of movement, though,  a small figure skulking about in the shadows behind the tree.

“Hey!” Dean called after it, but it ran off, vanished into the tangle of monuments and gnarled trees at the edge of the cemetery. He considered giving chase, but the haze of heat and pain prevented him from taking that consideration too seriously. He turned back to Sam, who was facing the statue again. “Just some pervert or something, Sammy, let’s just get the hell outta here.”

But Sam didn't move. In fact, he was standing _extremely_ still. Slowly, he stretched one arm out behind him and blindly reached for Dean. “Dean look it. It… moved? Look.” Sam held the phone up with his other hand and motioned for Dean to look at the pictures he’d just taken. “The arm, there, see how it’s pointed down? In the picture? But now, look… it’s up more, like it’s reaching for something.” He was whispering, as if he didn’t want anyone to overhear. 

Dean glanced at the photo and then the statue and scrubbed his hand down his face. _Seriously?_ “Sam, that statue,” he reached out and thumped it with his hand, “is solid stone. It ain't movin’. It’s probably just the angle you took the picture from, you know, and, uh bad lighting out here. Or heat stroke. Or somethin’. Now, can we pretty please get outta here? Or you wanna, uh, practice your photography some more?”

Sam’s mouth tightened and quirked up a bit on one side, but he didn’t respond. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and pushed past Dean towards the exit. Dean shook his head as he watched Sam storm off, not looking forward to the sour mood he’d be in, _they’d both be in_ , for the rest of the night. _Freakin' ghosts._ Dean turned one more time toward the statue, it was right where it was supposed to be, not moving or dancing or any other insane thing that solid rock generally does not do. He took a deep breath and followed.

~

They rode back to the motel in silence, Dean insisted on driving despite the throbbing in his broken fingers. “I don’t drive with that hand anyway.” he grumbled, snatching the keys from Sam’s hand.

Sam tried to make conversation in the car, idly narrating results of his internet search for the “mysterious” angel statue and the odd carving on its arm. Not much to narrate, really, the search term “Stone cemetery angels that move on their own and have symbols carved on them” hadn’t really brought up any useful results, but that didn’t stop him from trying to fill the awkward silence that so often hung in the air between them. _Awkward silence_ , Sam mused, when did that term even begin to apply to them? 

That thought gnawed at Sam. There had been better times. Not easier or happier, perhaps, but better. Times when the silence between them was comfortable and flowed into everything else. Times when he looked forward to hitting the open road with Dean, excited to be headed somewhere new and content to pass the hours laughing or sleeping or just staring out the window at the passing landscape. Sam missed that, that easy alone-but-togetherness of it. Now he just felt alone.  
What he said at the cemetery, about getting things wrong, Sam thought later that he should’ve known better. It was his own conclusions he was doubting, but of course Dean didn't take it that way. Dean carried guilt around the way most people carried cell phones, like he needed it close, always patting a pocket to make sure it was right where it was supposed to be. 

Sam felt guilty about it, then slightly pissed at Dean for making him feel guilty, then even more guilty for feeling pissed, then anxious more than anything else. Dean would shut down so easily since the ordeal with the mark of Cain, even their customary disagreements resulted in disproportionately cutting sarcasm or sullen silences. Sam feared that the wrong words could send him running again.

Back at the motel it was clear that Dean was still irritated, but more sore and hungry than anything else. Hungry Dean was _always_ irritated, so Sam offered to go out in search of late night fast food, because food was a better olive branch to offer Dean than talking, anyway. 

Dean mumbled thanks and flipped on the room’s wall AC unit as Sam walked out the door. He took the opportunity to treat himself to a nice cool shower. They hadn’t spent much time down south lately, and Dean had forgotten just how stifling it could be in the summertime. He felt a momentary pang of guilt when he thought of Sam doing all the work that night, he probably should have let Sam hit the shower instead, but when he fumbled with the shampoo bottle and then fumbled through washing his hair one handed, _that_ guilt receded. He still felt vaguely uneasy about all the statue nonsense in the cemetery, Sam usually had pretty good hunter’s instincts, but for god’s sake, stone angels that could move?

Sam arrived back shortly after Dean finished dressing, with food and a six pack of beer. He popped the cap off one and handed it over to Dean along with a foil wrapped burger and sat down at the table to dig into his salad. “So, um, I was thinking then, we’d stick around another night? I just wanna check out the cemetery again, tomorrow night and… check it out.” 

Dean took a long drink from his beer and let out an exasperated groan. “Come on, it’s nothing, kid’s messing around or something. It’s fucking sweltering here, and my whole body hurts like hell. I just wanna go home and relax for a few days.”

Sam frowned at the world “home” and Dean regretted saying it. He knew Sam didn’t think of the bunker as home, to him it was just another stop on the road, nothing more than a motel room equipped with some fancy bells and whistles. Sam had a very particular idea of home, an idealized, unobtainable picture of what _home_ should look like, and Dean afforded him that because he knew the reason behind it. But Dean loved the bunker. Loved having a bed that was all his and a kitchen to cook in and just a place, any place, he could call his.

“Yeah Dean, I know. Just, another day. Then we’ll head back?” Sam looked at him expectantly for a minute, eyes wide, brows knit together, and Dean shrugged one shoulder in forfeit. Sam opened his mouth to speak again, to say _thanks_ or _sorry_ but Dean turned away from him to flop down on his bed and click on the tv. When Sam returned from his shower later that evening, Dean had passed out sitting up on top of his covers, half empty beer still in his hand. Sam looked at him fondly for a moment, before dumping the beer and coaxing sleeping Dean into a supine position.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam and Dean spent the next day avoiding one another, a difficult accomplishment for two people sharing a single motel room. Dean lazed around most of the morning, flipping through channels and rolling his eyes in Sam’s general direction every now and then lest Sam somehow forget how badly he didn’t want to be there. Sam did his best to ignore it and settled back on his bed alternately researching and goofing off on his laptop. He actually started to feel a little silly about insisting that they stay, what would they even see when they went back to the cemetery? Just inanimate stone angels, of course, and Dean would smugly point out how _right_ he had been all along. _Maybe that will at least cheer him up enough to make the drive back to Kansas bearable,_ Sam thought.

Around one o’clock Dean shut the tv off and left the room without a word. He came back about thirty minutes later with a pizza and some salad from an Italian place up the road. He tossed it on the table in front of Sam, grabbed a few slices and jumped right back into watching tv. Sam picked at the salad and nibbled on a slice as well.

Finally, around dinnertime, Dean spoke. “I’m going out for a drink.” he said, grabbing the car keys from the table and heading for the door.

Sam looked up from his laptop, mouth open, a bit stunned. “But, the cemetery? Was gonna head back there in a bit?” 

“Uh, yeah, I gathered. _I’m_ going for a drink. So, uh, looks like you’re walkin’.”

Sam shook his head. What did he expect? He’d given Dean hell for chaperoning him before. He couldn’t very well say he wanted Dean to come with him for back up. “Ok, yeah. ‘Course.” he looked back up again and gave Dean a tight smile. “Just, Dean? Uh, keep your phone on? Ok?” Sam’s face scrunched up when he said it, and he sounded a lot more like a fifteen year old kid than he’d intended. Dean’s expression softened just for a second before slipping back.

“You got it, brother.” he said, tapping his phone with a small smile back before turning and leaving. Dean almost reconsidered halfway to the car, not completely confident that Sam was up for going back to that place alone. But Dean knew from experience that that explanation wouldn’t go over well, and kept walking. 

Sam hadn’t even realized how tense he’d felt all day until Dean gave him that modest but warm smile, and the knot in his stomach loosened a little bit. Sam wasn't sure if it was just a result of the recent tension between them or something more, but sometimes when Dean smiled, really smiled at him, he felt His mood was a lot better by the time he was heading out the door about an hour later and began the walk to the graveyard. _Maybe things’ll be ok_ he thought, _start to getting back to normal once we get out of here._

By the time he arrived at the cemetery gates, Sam was feeling the effects of the sticky subtropical weather, his limbs felt too heavy and his thoughts were hazy. He shook his head to clear it and wandered to the area they had been in the evening before, a small grouping of century and a half old headstones arranged around the crooked weeping willow tree. The place seemed darker than it had the night before, and eerier. Sam felt uneasy, spooked by childish fears like menacing shadows and cicada songs. 

As Sam approached and surveyed his surroundings, fear turned to the sick rush of adrenaline coursing through him as his body contemplated _fight or flight_. Something was definitely… off. The statue… the _statues_ , were nowhere near where they had been twenty-four hours earlier. The big one, the one he thinks is the same one he photographed, was off by nearly ten feet, and there was another, smaller one that had not been there before, not far from it. 

Sam approached the larger angel with trepidation, mentally chastising himself for being hesitant despite the mounting evidence that something was definitely amiss. A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye and Sam turned towards it for less than a second before turning back to the angel, and then promptly stumbling backwards a few feet, slamming his back into a tree trunk, because that angel, it was _closer_ to him than it had been before he looked away. Sam blindly reached into his pocket for his phone, too terrified to take his eyes off this thing, to even blink, and tried to call Dean without looking down to dial. 

_Unlock the phone._

He heard something shifting behind him, muffled. 

_Dial? Voice dial? Where’s the button for that?_

Almost like footsteps now, light but swift. 

_Turn around? Look at the damn phone? Watch the angel?_

Sounds everywhere, cicadas and crickets and wind whistling through the leaves and _something_ approaching. 

_Dean, please._

A tremendous force crashed into Sam from behind, knocking him forward, face first into the ground. Groaning in pain and shaking, he frantically patted the ground around him to feel for the phone with one hand while simultaneously trying to clear the dirt from his eyes with the other. He felt a sharp sting on his forehead and the hand on his face came away wet. _Dean,_ Sam thought again as he slowly lost consciousness.

~

Dean sat at the bar, absently picking at the label of his beer bottle and trying to conjure some small amount of interest in whatever college football game was blaring from the flat screen. He was feeling bad tempered and impatient about god knows what, probably a response to being cooped up all day all alone. With Sam of course, but still alone. 

He wasn’t sure if he should feel annoyed at Sam or ashamed of himself for the tension and distance between them lately. He wanted to attribute it to his “time away”-  that’s what he’s taken to calling it in his mind, those weeks after he died- and the debacle with Cain. He _wants_ to think that’s the problem, so he can blame Crowley and Cain and god damn Metatron, but if he’s honest with himself, it goes back further. Things hadn’t been right between them in a long time. Since Gadreel, since the trials. And he knew, the worst part was that he really did know, it was all on him. One hundred percent Dean being himself and still screwing things up so badly Sam hadn’t even wanted to be his brother anymore. He didn't know how to bring that up, to ask for forgiveness. So they subsisted mainly on silence and sarcasm.

He decided to pull his phone out and text Sam to see how things were going. “?” was all he sent, since even then, the right words still wouldn't come. A beer or three later, he pulled out his phone again, even though he knew he hadn't felt it buzz, to check for a response. None. Dean shrugged and slapped his phone down on the bar. He wasn’t surprised, really, that Sam wasn’t texting him back. So Dean drank a few more beers before paying his tab, and heading back to the motel.

The room was dark when Dean got back, it was well after midnight, and he assumed Sam was passed out in bed asleep. He did his best to _quietly_ use the bathroom and get ready for bed, although truthfully he suspected he wasn’t quite sober enough to be successful. Dean sat down on his bed and removed his boots before noticing that there was something terribly wrong. His head was fuzzy from the beer, and it actually took him a few seconds to piece together the fact that yes, that was Sam’s laptop sitting on his pillow was not Sam’s head, and yes, that was not good. Dean flicked on all the lights and called out Sam’s name, as if there were some as yet undiscovered third room that Sam would pop out of. 

_Damnit_ Dean thought, as he shoved his boots back on, grabbed his flashlight and headed back out into the night. 

Dean hopped into the Impala, but thought better of it and got out to walk, hoping if he went on foot he might cross paths with Sam or someone who’d seen him despite the late hour. He pulled out his phone and dialed Sam’s number but after five rings he got the voicemail. “Shit” he said aloud, and picked up the pace. By the time Dean arrived at the cemetery he was running flat out, although he didn’t realize it until he came to a halt. 

It was dark but Dean pulled out the flashlight and made his way towards the area where they had been the night before. He paced around for ten minutes, looking around trees and behind the taller headstones, as if his six-foot-four little brother would be able to hide himself behind one. Finally, he pulled out his phone to call again, and Dean’s heart stopped in his chest when he heard the familiar buzzing a few feet away. He walked towards the sound, terrified of what he would find lying there, but as he round the tree he saw nothing but the pale light from Sam’s phone, vibrating in the dirt.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked around, bewildered. He rubbed his hand over his head and felt blood and dirt caked dry to his forehead. He winced slightly and squinted as he looked around. The sky was light, blues and light purples and pinks and oranges blending towards the horizon where the sun shimmered through the morning haze. It was daytime? _Christ how long have I been out?_ What? Sam’s confusion was mounting. 

_Something attacked me in the cemetery._ he remembered, trying to work out what had happened. _And there was the angels. But… something hit me, and I fell. And now I’m here? Where is here?_

He scanned the field - field?- he was in for something familiar, but saw only tall grass in all directions. “Where the hell am I?” he asked out loud, wondering where the hours had gone and how he had ended up so very far from where he’d been. He got to his feet and tried to guess which direction would be the best to head in, but there were no landmarks in sight, so he settled on what he assumed to be east, based on the slowly rising sun, hoping to hit town, any town, soon.

About an hour passed before Sam came upon any signs of civilization. He spotted a quaint, historic looking farm in the distance and jogged towards it. It seemed to be a vineyard, actually, rows of trellises wrapped with vines that were covered to protect against the cold. There was a gentleman not far ahead, doing repairs on some of the wooden framework. “Hey” he called out to the man, “Hey can you, uh, tell me where I am?”

The man looked him over, clear distrust on his face for the tall stranger who’d strolled onto his property. “Yer on my vineyard, that’s where ya’re” he answered with an unfriendly twang. Sam tried again.

“Right, sorry. It’s just, last thing I remember I was in a town, uh, Eatonton I think, off of 441? That’s not anywhere near here, is it?”

The farmer squinted his eyes at Sam. “Son, you feelin’ alright? Looks like ye had a nasty bump over the head” he said, gesturing at the blood on Sam’s face. “Anyway, don’ know nothin’ bout this four-forty-one, but yer right outsid’a Eatonton presently.”

Sam was relieved he was near town, but why- why did it all look so different than he’d thought the day before, and why was it so cold…

“And, uh, the date? Sorry, I’m a little foggy.” he said, tapping his head, “can you remind me, today’s date?”

“Crimony boy, what’s with you? It’s the eighth of D’cember, nineteen ought eight.”

Sam faltered slightly at the man’s words, gripping the trellis for support. 

“You sure yer ok?” the man asked, genuinely concerned now. “Listen, name’s Vic, this here house ain't much but if yer needin’ a place to sit down for a while yer welcome to come in. I’d offer you to stay the night but I got a farm hand what’s delirious with the flu in the spare room and I don’t reckon you’d wanna bunk with him.” 

Sam’s head was reeling. 1908? How? How was it possible? How could he get back? He knew he had to get back to the start, head back to the cemetery for answers. He shook his head politely at Vic’s offer. “That’s very kind of you sir, but, I, well I actually do need to get back into town. Uh, there’s a cemetery nearby, right? I’m supposed to meet someone there.”

Vic sighed and pointed more or less in the direction Sam had been headed, “thataway, ‘bout an hour or so.”

“Thanks” and Sam was on his way.

~ 

Dean crouched down to pick up Sam’s abandoned phone, still buzzing with “D” flashing across the screen to indicate who was calling. Dean unlocked the phone to check the history. Missed call. Two. Both his. Unopened text. One. His as well. So Sam must have dropped this before the first text, around 3 hours earlier. Dean scanned the ground around the phone looking for any other evidence. Trampled grass but no discernible foot prints, no scraps of fabric, no drops of blood that he could see _thank fucking christ_. Dean felt cold panic grip his heart. _Where the hell is Sam? Did someone take him again?_ “No,” Dean said aloud to no one, “not now. You can’t take him from me.”

Dean scoured a good portion of the cemetery searching for any hints of what had happened, any indication of Sam’s whereabouts. About twenty yards from where Sam’s phone was, he spotted that vandalized statue from the night before, the one Sam had gone to check out. To his surprise, and as Sam had predicted, it was not in the same place it had been the night before. He approached it slowly, hyper aware of his surroundings and watching the angel for any signs that something could be wrong. As he reached out to run his fingers over the smooth cool stone, Dean felt an impact and a searing, crunching pain in his shoulder. 

Dean swung around, swinging his flashlight at whatever or whoever had just attacked him. A few few feet in front of him was an old man, tall and thin like the one they’d spotted through the willow branches. He was holding a rusty shovel, presumably what he had just hit Dean with, and staring not at Dean, but at the statue.

“What. The fuck. You’d better run old man.”

The man dropped the shovel and instantly raised both hands in surrender. “Please, I just, don’t hurt me. I was helping I swear. You don’t wanna touch that thing, I needed to stop you. Sorry. Please, I was just helping. Angels, these, very bad. Bad. Not stone, no, you think they’re stone. But no no no. Better stay away. Was just helping.”

Dean rubbed at his shoulder. _Awesome, guy’s senile_ , he thought as the man rambled on, never once turning his gaze to Dean.

“Bad things, bad bad bad. Don’t touch it. That other boy. One touched him. Gone. Gone gone gone.”

Dean forgot his tender shoulder and grabbed the man by his shirt pulling him close, he smelled strongly of stale whiskey. “What other boy?” he shouted. “Did you see someone here earlier? Where is he?” Dean’s voice sounded vicious, even to himself. 

“Tall boy. Tall. Touched one. Or one touched him. Wasn’t looking, only when you look away.”

“What are you talking about? Listen, you’re coming with me.’ Dean needed to sober this guy up if he was going to get any useful information out of him. Dean prayed once he got a pot of coffee in this guy he’d be making more sense.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam finally made it to the cemetery, about an hour later just like Vic had said. It was surreal, the town, if you could call it town, was just a few houses, dirt roads, a church, a bar (saloon?). No cars, no airplanes overhead, no cell phone towers. No signs of modern technology, no indication that it wasn't, in fact, 1908, just like Vic had said as well. 

He spotted a group of mourners not far from the entrance and watched them for a long while, through a sermon and burial and until the last of them walked off. Sam approached the newly covered grave and examined the engraving.

Walter Robinson  
Beloved husband and father  
January 19 1857-December 5 1908

_1908_. Sam couldn’t deny it anymore. Vic was right and this was real, somehow he’d been sent back in time. Either that or he had completely lost his mind. Sam wasn’t really sure which was the better option at the moment. _Maybe I’m losing it. Wouldn't be the first time after all. I need help. Need Dean. Where are you? ___

__Sam chose to operate under the assumption that he had not, indeed, lost his mind. He decided he needed to get a message to Dean, wherever, _whenever_ he was. But how? They weren’t complete strangers to time travel, after all, they’d been separated like this before. Sam remembered the way Dean had managed to get a message to him after Chronos pulled him back to 1940-whatever, leaving that note in the baseboard for him to find. Sam looked around and shook his head, though, nothing here now is still standing in the present day, that’s for sure. Except… Sam looked towards the graves again, they were the only things that were still in town when he and Dean investigated the day before was this, these statues, these gravestones. Sam approached bent to examine the newly carved headstone of Mr. Robinson and pulled out his knife, silently asking the decedent for forgiveness for what he was about to do._ _

__~_ _

__Dean half dragged, half poked at the old drunk to get him back to the motel. Barry, Dean had learned his name, had a few cups of strong black coffee and a sandwich from the late night cafe at the motel. He’d babbled on about this and that, the motel, history of the town, reality tv, and Dean’s patience was all but gone. As Barry took the last bite from the sandwich, Dean grabbed the plate from his hands and tossed it across the room, where it shattered against the wall._ _

__“Now listen. I don’t give a flying fuck about anything you have to say ‘cept one thing. You tell me what you saw in that cemetery and you tell me now. And nothing ‘bout angels and disappearing, I want the goddamn truth.”_ _

__Barry shrunk back in his chair as Dean yelled. He was shaking slightly but sat back up seemingly determined. “The angels. They’re not. They’re not statues.” he began, and Dean slammed his palm down on the table in irritation. “No, please, hear me out. I know. I know first hand. Well, they are statues, they’re stone, but only when you’re looking right at them. When you look away, they…. they move. I swear, I dunno how, but I swear to god mister, they do.”_ _

__“OK, let’s say I believe you” Dean started, and he’d seen enough monsters and things he would have sworn didn’t exist to give the benefit of the doubt from time to time, “That still doesn’t explain what happened to my brother. Where. Is. He?”_ _

__Barry looked around the room, as if trying to make sure there was no one else there listening. He spoke again, almost in a whisper, “When they touch you, they don’t kill you. No, it’s worse than that. They… they send you _back_. Away. Back. Back in time.”_ _

__Dean stood abruptly and ran his hands through his hair. “Jesus, man, so you’re telling me, that a stone goddamn statue came to life, grabbed Sammy and what? Sent him back to the dark ages? This isn’t helpful information you know. I need to find my brother, and if you’re not helping me, well, then you’re against me. And against me isn’t a good place to be right now.” Dean could be very menacing when he needed to be, hoping a little threat would shake more information from the man._ _

__Barry looked lost. “I am, I am helping. I can prove it to you, I can. I swear. I… it happened. To me. Years ago, but not yet. I was in the graveyard as a boy. Five years from now, I was eight. I run away from home. I hid there. Right by the statue… I thought it would protect me. Keep me safe. But it _grabbed_ me. Threw me down. Threw me back. I was eight years old. I woke up in the dirt, twenty miles from here. In 1942. I was born three years ago, and I’m eighty years old.”_ _

__Dean walked over to the other side of the room. He didn’t know what to say. Clearly Barry was off his rocker, but that didn’t mean he was _wrong_ , and he was the only witness Dean knew of to what had happened to Sam. The angel, or _something_ had grabbed Sam, and Sam had disappeared. Not much to go on. Dean was exhausted and Barry had nearly passed out snoring on the table. He propped himself up on a few pillows and tried to think of what to do next. He didn’t realize how close he was to falling asleep himself until he woke up, 6 hours later._ _

__He woke with a start to the sound of someone making an awful lot of noise in the bathroom. “Sammy shut up.” Dean mumbled sleepily before bolting up in his bed. _No, Sam’s not here._ Dean got up and banged through the bathroom door to find Barry routing around in their bags.._ _

__“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dean asked._ _

__“Oh, uh, looking… lookin’ for aspirin is all. Head’s killin’ me.”_ _

__Dean gave him a long glare, trying to arrange his face in the most intimidating way possible, Barry put the bag down and backed out of the bathroom. “You stay here” Dean said, “I’m gonna get cleaned up, then you’re gonna help me find my brother.”_ _

__Dean went into the bathroom to piss and brush his teeth. He considered taking a quick shower but decided against it, worried Barry would give him the slip if he left him alone too long. He looked himself over in the mirror and sniffed his day old shirt. _Sweat and smoke from the bar._ A change of clothes, then. Dean exited the bathroom pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor._ _

__“That! That, on your chest.” Barry said, excitedly, as Dean reached for a fresh shirt._ _

__“Just a tattoo, buddy.”_ _

__“No, no wait!” Barry insisted, walking towards Dean with his hand out, “just let me look at it.”_ _

__“Listen, pervert, it’s just a tattoo, keep your hands to yourself if you wanna keep ‘em at all.” Dean backed away._ _

__“No! But I’ve seen it before. That exact symbol. A million times. Caught my eye as a boy. I’ve seen it, I _know_ it.” Barry was speaking faster and faster. _ _

__“Where?”_ _

__“The cemetery.”_ _

__~_ _

__Sam finished carving the symbol into the stone, his fingers half numb, half aching from the cold. He had considered for a long time what to carve, what kind of message he could leave here that would stand the test of time but also call out to Dean as unmistakably meant for him. Sam’s name? Directions? Help me?  Any words would probably have been seen as vandalism and removed, but a small symbol, in the midst of the other Christian symbols on the headstone, may go unnoticed by anyone who wasn’t looking for it. The anti-possession symbol probably wouldn't stand out to the average passerby, but to Dean, Sam hoped anyway, it would be like a large neon sign, blinking “Sam Winchester was here”._ _

__There wasn’t a way to indicate _where_ Dean should do if he made it back to the right time, hopefully the cemetery would be first. Sam felt an uplifting jolt in his stomach at realizing this, and hopped up and looked around, half expecting to see Dean sauntering towards him with a blanket and a smile. _No, then_ he thought, feeling foolish. Sam supposed maybe this particular mode of time travel may not be very precise. He decided if he was going to be here for a while he’d better stick close, so he headed headed back towards town, trying to figure out how to talk his way into some food and shelter. And maybe some whiskey._ _


	5. Chapter 5

Dean dragged Barry back to the cemetery as soon as he was fully dressed. “No coffee, no breakfast. You show me” he hollered. Barry walked shakily in front of him once they’d arrived, clearly frightened but leading the way to a small grave off in the older portion of the cemetery. He circled the headstone and knelt down beside it, pointing. “There” he said, “carved on the back. Same’s you got right there” motioning to Dean’s chest.

Dean knelt down as well to examine the carving, he couldn’t deny Barry was right, that’s precisely what it was. God, it was old, the carving cracked and rounded at the edges. But how old? Dean craned his neck around to inspect the date on the front of the tombstone. _December 5th 1908_. Dean let out a low whistle and rubbed his hand across his forehead. _Ok. So. 1908. I hear ya Sammy, I got the message._ All he needed now was a way to get there. 

“The angel, the one you said took Sam-”

“No, didn’t take him, no sent him. Sent him back. Away.”

“Yeah, ok. Got it. Which one? Is there only one? Was it the same one that got you? You said what, you got sent back to the forties? That’s not. Sam’s earlier. I need to know if it was the same one.”

“No. No, I got. The big one got me. There's a little one too. Him, he was got by the littler one.”

Dean wasn’t necessarily pleased to hear that there was more than one of these things, but this could be good news. Big angel goes to 1940s, little to 1908. If it was the same every time, if they repeated the same year, or even the same number of years back, well, that may be a way back to Sam. _Not a way for us to get home, but not going to worry about that now._   
Dean needed something more to go on that Barry’s word, though, which unfortunately meant research. If he’s wrong, if the angels are entirely inconsistent, well, he could end up in the middle of the civil war. In the stone age. Or the damn paleolithic. No, research was definitely needed, there had to be more people out there who’ve encountered these things. Dean suddenly felt very tired at the thought. _Sam’s the researcher, he’s the smart one. How am I gonna do this?_

“Listen, uh, Barry. Thanks. Don’t go skippin’ town or anything. May need you.” and with that Dean turned and left.

Dean stopped in the motel lobby for a cup of coffee (terrible coffee) before going back to their room. _So. Research,_ he thought. He hesitated for just a second before reaching for Sam’s laptop, almost like he shouldn’t be touching it without Sam’s permission. He flopped down on the bed where the computer had been sitting since the night before, flipped it open, and felt optimistic for the first time since yesterday, when he saw the web browser was still open with four tabs.

Tab one: Cemetery website. Locations of graves. History. Boring. Close. Next.

Tab two: Angel carvings. Historical significance. Changes over time. Types of material most often used. Useless. Close. Next. 

Tab three: Reverse image search of the angel Sam photographed. Few dozen hits of similar images. Nonsense about not blinking? Something about a doctor? Potentially useful, though. Keep open. Next.

Tab four: Health website? Recovering from Trauma. Stage Four. Reintegration. Wait... What?

Dean checked the url, _Psychology Today_? He scrolled back up to the top of the page, looking for some clue as to why his brother was researching _here_. It was just some self-help article. The steps to recovering from a traumatic experience. Hope to cope. _Jesus Christ_ Dean thought, _Sam's not ok?_ Dean knew the last year or so had been, well, hard. Sam survived the trials, but just barely. Then there was Gadreel. And Kevin. Dean dying. Dean becoming a demon. He felt a sick heavy feeling lodge itself deep in the pit of his stomach. Had it hurt Sam more than he’d realized? Sam felt traumatized? Sam felt like he needed help? And Dean hadn’t even fucking noticed.

Dean bit down hard on his lip, trying to distract his body from the fine tremor that was affecting his hands at the moment, and distract his mind from the flood of self hatred. He closed that tab as well, aggressively closed it, and returned to examining the image search results. Dean didn’t know if he would find what he needed, but he knew he had to get back to Sam, or die trying. 

A few hours of research later, Dean felt a lot more hopeless. There wasn’t any real concrete evidence or first hand accounts of the angels, just a lot of speculation and the consensus that the things were damn creepy. It was time to pull out all the stops- angels got them into this mess, maybe an angel could get them out. Dean closed his eyes and prayed for help, prayed the only way he knew how, to his friend who had helped him so many times before. When he opened his eyes, though, he was still alone in the room. _Figures_ Dean thought, knowing full well Cas was probably too caught up in Heaven’s turmoil to hear him, although half-heartedly hoping Sam had already summoned Cas to where ever the hell he is. 

~

Sam’s feet were killing him by the time he got back to the part of town with whiskey, he felt like he’d been walking for days. _God, how did people survive before cars?_

He walked over to the doors of the bar. Saloon? Ale house? Lord, he didn't even know. _What am I going to say_ he thought as he strode inside. _Got free beer? Can I pay you with this crisp new twenty dollar bill in my pocket that won’t be legal tender for a hundred years? Shit._ He decided to go with the “clueless out of towner looking for work and information” routine. _That_ one should work in any era.

Once inside, he looked around. OK, so not a lot of people here this time a day, that’s good. What time even was it? Late afternoon he guessed. There was an older woman behind the bar wiping down glasses, and Sam crossed his fingers and hoped she was friendly. “Help ya?” she said, without even looking up.

“Uh, yeah.” Sam stammered. No use pulling out an FBI badge or posing as an out of town cop here, that’s for certain. “Yeah, hi. I just got here. Into town, from, New York. Took the train down and, uh, waiting for someone. My brother, He was, uh, supposed to meet up with me here, but he’s, uh, running late it seems.” _Yeah, real smooth, Sam._ “He, uh, has our tickets. Home. To. Texas. And, well I’m kinda stranded here I suppose? Wondering if you knew of a place to stay, and maybe a place to work some odd jobs. Make a few…” _dollars? bucks? dimes? what?_ “Make a little money.”

The woman stopped wiping the glasses and looked up at Sam, then looked him up and down and let out a deep sigh. “Well, well, handsome, looks like you’re in luck” she said, winking at Sam. “Lost a handyman just last week, dropped dead in the middle of a job, right out back too. There’s some lumber out there needs to be turnt into a fence. You look mighty able bodied, sound like something you can do? Can't pay ya money but I got a place you can stay and I got plenty of food and drink for ya.”

Sam smiled broadly back at her. She looked middle aged, face lined and weathered, but very pretty and with a kind smile. _Finally, some good luck._. “Yes, I, uh. Yes. Pretty sure I can manage a fence,” he answered. Damn if he actually knew how to turn some logs into a fence, but he thought himself handy enough to fake his way though it and figured it best to just agree. 

“Great!” she answered. “Name’s Florence. Listen, you look right tired, I’ll have some food made up ‘round sundown, and there’s a room for you to stay in if ya don’t mind a drafty old shack. Reckon it beats sleepin’ outside. Why don't you go take a load off in there til supper's on.”

“Florence,” he said, extending his hand, “that’s very kind of you, I am actually pretty tired, but I should probably take a look at that fence first. Name's Sam. Extremely pleased to meet you.”

Sam was grateful. He’d manage to secure food and a place to stay, at least for a few days. He walked around to the back of the building, his stomach grumbling at the thought of food. He hadn't eaten since that salad and nibble of pizza the night before, and the day’s constant walking had just increased his normal appetite. He eyed the bits of fence that were already started, shrugged, and got to work.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean continued the internet research, losing more and more hope and the hours ticked on, getting increasingly desperate for answers. Sam. He needed to get back to Sam. The thought was singular in his mind. A loud knock on the motel door startled him, his heart beating excessively fast as he rose to open the door. 

And christ, what was this, creepy old guy day? A man in a black suit, mid-fifties Dean estimated, pushed his way past Dean and into the room, babbling so quickly and accented that Dean didn’t understand a single word. 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” he interrupted, “Who the hell are you and waddya think you’re doing? I’m kinda busy here.”

“Yes yes yes” the man answered, seemingly talking to himself. “Yes, busy. Here, over here.” He took out some kind of noisy flashlight from inside his pocket and aimed it around the room. “Temporal disturbances. All around. Not so much here. Over there,” he gestured towards the window, “much worse over there.” He rambled on like this for a full minute before Dean slammed his hand down on the table, nearly knocking it sideways. 

“Who the _hell_ are you and what are you doing here? I ain’t got time for this old man.”

The man stopped and stood straight up facing Dean. “Ah, right. Hi. Yes, introductions, sorry. I’m the Doctor, I intercepted your message, see?” He held up a small folding wallet with a piece of paper. On it was written “Need your help. Angels. Please.” and the address of the motel he was in. “See, here? You needed help? Was it you? You’ve got that look about you, yes, clearly in need of help.”

Dean was shocked, the writing on the paper, it looked like _his_. The message, his prayer to Cas? Was somehow here in this stranger’s hand. 

“Listen, Doctor… what’s your name? Never mind, I don’t actually care. Yes, I need help. But you ain’t gonna come in here talking nonsense and shoving paper in my face like that. That message wasn’t meant for you-”

“Yes that’s why I said I _intercepted_ it, keep up.”

“You tell me who you are. And what you know about what’s going on here. Now.” Dean’s voice had gotten louder the longer he spoke, he was nearly yelling.

The Doctor didn’t seem intimidated at all by Dean’s speech. “Ah, great. Slow on the uptake, yeah? Ok. Slowly then. You asked for help. I heard. There’s-” he licked his finger and held it up in the air as if testing the wind, “there’s some time disturbances here. And you said angels. So, people disappearing? Statues moving about? Yes?”

Dean nodded.

“Ah, good. Done talking then. Ok. So. Statues. Angels. Where are they? How many?” he asked, flitting around the room again.

Dean still didn’t understand quite what was going on or who this guy was, but he seemed to at least somewhat know what he was talking about, so Dean answered. “Uh, cemetery. A few miles from here. Someone, one person, gone missing. Sam. My brother. I think… look, I know this is gonna sound crazy but-”

“Yes. Sent back in time, you’re right. Gone, though. Can’t worry about that now. Got to stop them. If only I had-”

“Hey!” Dean interrupted. “Listen what do you mean gone? Did you hear me? He’s my brother. He ain’t gone, that ain't something I’m gonna accept. I gotta go... I gotta go get him back.”

The Doctor twirled around to face Dean, rolling his eyes, but something on Dean’s face stopped whatever cutting remark had been on the tip of his tongue. “Right. Of course. Fine. Well, I can’t take you to him, too much interference, these damn things. Just like New York. And I can’t get a clear enough signal to find out where he is. There’s really no way. Well, no smart way.”

“Ok, well I know where he is. What’s the non-smart way, then? Cause that’s what I’m doin’”

“Ah, afraid you’d ask that. Should’ve known. Dumb. Yeah. Well… theoretically if you encounter the same angel during the same power cycle, so to speak, it could, possibly, that is, send you to roughly the same time. Not exact, though, of course. Not guaranteed. How do you know, anyway?”

“Huh?”

“How. Do you know. Where he is?” the Doctor clarified, slowing his speech down for effect.

Dean explained about Barry and the symbol in the cemetery, the dates of the grave.

“Ah. Brilliant.” the Doctor said, smiling, “your brother, Smart one, then, huh?” And yeah that stung a little coming from a stranger, but not something Dean didn't already know. “So, yes. That’s the dumb way.  Could still miss him though, but it’s probably your best shot. I… a friend of mine did it once. Worked for them. But you'd be stuck there. Unless…”

“Unless what?” Dean asked.

“Well, unless you can somehow stop them in the past, kill them then, well, they’d never have gotten you now. Might just create a paradox to zap you back to now. Might. Theoretically.”

“Stop them how?”

The doctor explained how he had beat these creatures a few times before. They’d starve to death, of course, given enough time, but that wasn’t an option in these circumstances. Sucked into a crack in the universe? Well Dean wasn't going to touch _that_ one. Get them to look at each other, though, right at each other, and it just may stop them for good. Freeze them in place forever. 

“Alright, so. I go back to the cemetery, go all touched by an angel and bam, back in pioneer days?”

“Theoretically, yes, but I really must stress-”

“And then, we get them to look at each other? And they'll be stuck, because… because they can't move if someone's watching?”

“Well yes but-”

“And then, if they're stuck like that, back in 19-0-whatever, we'll, I dunno, get paradoxed home?

“Ye- well, possibly but I really don't think-”

“Great, let’s go.”

~

Sam finished his meal and thanked Florence profusely for it. He was sore and aching from the work, chopping wood into planks and fashioning them into a fence was actually a considerable amount of exercise, and he was beat. 

The shack wasn’t actually half bad, honestly, living on the road he’d spent the night in worse places. There was a fireplace, a table in chair in one corner, a lumpy but soft looking bed pushed up against the wall, and a large pile of blankets. It was cold but he was too weary to bother with a fire. The blankets would have to do, they were thick and woolen and smelled faintly moldy, but warm enough all the same. He sat on the bed, his back against the wall and wrapped several around himself, shivering. God, on top of everything else, he was so _bored_. What did people do in 1908? Go to sleep once the sun went down? He wanted his laptop. Or even his phone. Something to read. Someone to talk to. 

Dean. He wanted Dean.

Too comfortable in the blankets to go looking for any distractions, Sam sat and dwelled in his thoughts. He was utterly alone and it was quiet and what else was there to do, really, but comb through old memories. It had been a disaster, the last few months. Sam could still feel the effects of the trials, although he was physically healed. Sometimes he worried his soul was the problem, souls were much harder to heal. Sam had been so angry with Dean after Gadreel, he felt so betrayed. He’d punished Dean the most painful way he could, by taking away the one thing that meant most to Dean. Family. _We’re not brothers_ he told him. God, how fucked up was he to do that?

But then Crowley had happened, and Cain. And god damn Metatron put a sword through his brother’s chest and Sam had felt a lifetime of regret condensed into a pinprick point of time, when he held Dean’s face in his hands and watched him die. He understood what Dean had done, then, with Gadreel after the trials, because in that moment he would have done the same. Would have done worse. 

Sam shivered and pulled another blanket over his legs. He _had_ done worse. He remembered how his hand shook holding the blade to Dean’s throat. He was terrified, even though he was fairly certain the blade wouldn't actually work on Dean, he couldn't cut him, not even a little. Sam was so fucking thankful that Cas had shown up when he did, because he was about three second away from tossing the knife to the ground and letting Dean do whatever he wanted to him. Just to end the pain. Sam had died before, _actually_ died, but that moment was the closest he’s ever been to real death. 

It felt like they were trying to rebuild things now, though not really _talking_ about things, of course. Sam could tell Dean was off. He was jumpy and irritable, his attention span was sketchy, sometimes he’d be in the middle of doing something and just… lose track of it. Sam didn’t even think Dean noticed it half the time, but it was a problem. It was dangerous. Sam wanted nothing more in the world than to find a way to make Dean better, but he was beginning to suspect he had been so traumatized from his time as a demon, by some of things he had done under the influence of the mark, that he’d never fully get back to normal. 

And here here he was, Sam the fuck up as usual, waiting for his broken big brother to come and save him again.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean arrived back at the cemetery with the strange doctor in tow, babbling behind him about angels and timelines and some detective novel by Melody something or other. _Angels_ , the thought had been bugging Dean ever since the Doctor showed up. He spun on his heels to face him. “So, these angels, how are they related to actual angels, the, uh, angelic ones? How does it all fit together?”

The Doctor stopped short, mouth agape. “ _Actual_ angels? You mean like sitting on clouds with wings and harp angels?” 

“Well, uh, wings, yeah. Harps? Not so much.”

“Those aren’t real, boy.”

“Uh, yeah. They are. I know first hand. Had a lot of interaction with them actually. More than I’d like.” Dean placed his hand just over his heart, remembering the feel of Metatron’s blade as it drove through him. “I, uh, was calling one of them. Praying, I guess. That message you intercepted.”

“Seriously? Knew you weren't all that bright but I didn’t take you for delusional.”

“Oh, christ, fine, forget it. You don’t have to believe me and you can think I’m stupid all you want. But you said you’re here to help, so start helpin’!”

The Doctor seemed distracted by something over Dean’s shoulder, Dean whirled around to look. A stone angel, _the_ stone angel, the smaller one, not twelve feet away from them, he was sure it hadn’t been there a minute ago. “Keep your eyes on that.” The Doctor said, and Dean did.

“That’s the one. So if it touches me, if I look away, it’ll send me back to Sam?”

“In theory. Not guaranteed. I told you this.” 

“But it’s my best shot, right? You said that. Worked for your friend, right? And now it’s gonna work for me.” Dean took three steps forward and turned again and looked at the Doctor. “We’ll try to stop them, like you said. I’ll try. If not, I’m stuck there?”

“Most likely.”

“Awesome.” Dean took a deep breath and a tiny step back, he couldn’t be more than a foot away from the angel. “Look away, Doctor. Do it.” And he did. Dean felt a blast from behind him, like a shockwave, knocking him on his front, knocking the breath out of him. 

Dean stood shakily, a thundering pain in his head, and brushed himself off. He was incredibly pleased to find himself still in the cemetery, although clearly it was not the same September day it had been. It was cold, very cold, and a fine layer of frost covered the grass beneath him. Dean’s heart leapt. What if he was sent to the exact same time as Sam? What if he found him right here, carving that symbol into the headstone? Dean walked towards where he thought that headstone should be, but found only a patch of grass. Looking around, he found what looked to be a freshly covered grave, the dirt still lose and mounded on top, and looked at the date. 1908. God yes. _January_ 1908\. 

Fuck.

~

Sam woke the next morning freezing and it took him a groggy minute to remember where and when he was. He burrowed under the blankets he had piled atop himself (four of them), trying to drift back off to sleep. He’d been having a dream, he couldn't fully remember what it was. But he had been warm, and Dean was there, laughing, and Sam felt safe and happy. The details drifted away from him like clearing mist, but he remembered the feeling, and God he wanted to feel that way again. He sighed and rolled over, knowing there was something he was supposed to be doing now that the early morning light was flooding the shack. Oh. Right. Fence building.

Florence had brought him a place of cornbread and ham for breakfast, which he wolfed down before heading outside. Sam labored all day, warming up as the sun climbed across the sky, chopping wood, cutting wood, hammering. He was leaning up against one of his newly anchored posts around mid-day when he notices a glimmering object half buried under the dirt, a ring. He stooped over to dig it out of the ground and felt a small shock when his fingers touched the metal. It was thin, but ornately carved, and Sam turned it over in his hands trying to determine the material. Iron? Nickel? It felt… hot in hot hand, despite the chill in the air. Sam shrugged, put it in his pocket to examine later.

He worked through the rest of the day. Someone from the bar, a person he knew only as _not_ Florence, had brought out some kind of meat pie around lunch time, but the fence wasn’t finished until eight or so hours later and it was fully dark when Sam walked back into the bar, stomach growling. Florence approached him and led him over to a small empty table. 

“Nice job on the fence out there.” she said, “No sign of your brother yet?”

Sam just shook his head. Another day and Dean hadn’t found him. He began to prepare himself for the prospect that he might be stuck here alone for a long time.

“Well. Sure he just got held up somewhere. You’re welcome to stay another night, but after that, well, I ain't got no more jobs for you to do around here, and I really could be rentin’ it out-”

“I understand. Of course. One more night would be great. Thank you.”

“Oh don’t go thankin’ me, ya  earned it after all. And this too.” she said, pulling a small bottle of whiskey from a nearby shelf and placing it in front of him. “Figured you could use this. I’ll get ya some biscuits, too.”

Sam thanked her again and retreated to the shack, whiskey and biscuits in tow, not really in the mood for any more talking. He sat on the bed fiddling with the bottle and the odd ring he'd found earlier. It was carved, some of the symbols actually looked suspiciously like the one he had seen carved onto the angel in the cemetery, but it was hard to tell, it was dull with wear and covered in fine scratches. He had a strange thought and placed it on his finger, half expecting some supernatural occurrence, like something out of a movie. Nothing happened, of course, except that when he went to take it off again, the damn thing was stuck. _Great_.

Sam had been dozing on the bed for a few hours when a noise outside woke him. He rubbed his eyes and waited for his head to clear, listening hard. There, again, the noise, someone shuffling around the shack. Dragging footsteps. Stop. A light cough. More footsteps. Sam’s hunter’s instinct kicked in as he jumped from the bed and looked for something to defend himself with if need be. He grabbed an iron poker from in front of the fireplace and held it up defensively as he crept towards the door. He stood there for a moment listening, and when he heard footfalls right on the other side, he swung the door wide open, ready to fight.

What he saw there stunned him so significantly that the poker fell from his hands and his jaw dropped open.

Standing just outside the doorway, silhouette illuminated by the  pale light of the moon, smiling brighter than a thousand suns, was Dean Winchester.

“Found ya, Sammy.”


	8. Chapter 8

It took Sam a moment to recover enough from his shock to rush forward and wrap his arms around Dean. He hunched over a bit to place his head right over Dean’s shoulder, snaking his arms under Dean’s like Sam was still the short one. He squeezed so tightly he could almost hear Dean’s back crack. Dean hugged him back, just as hard, then harder. They stood like that for a long while, just embracing. They were together again now, and Sam felt like he could breath again. “Dean, I was beginning to think…”

“Thought you'd never see me again, eh? Can’t get rid of me that easy little bro.” Dean’s tone was joking but the firm hold he still had around Sam’s shoulders was serious. Finally he let go a little, and Sam pulled Dean inside and shut the door. 

“So, uh, you just got here right?” Dean asked, coughing a little and looking Sam up at down, assessing him.

“Yeah. Yeah, well, yesterday. Yesterday morning. You too? Just now?”

Dean chuckled a little and smiled at the ground. “Uh, not exactly.”

Dean was keeping his voice light but Sam could hear something underneath, something raw. Sam reached for the arm of Dean’s jacket and pulled him a little closer for a better look. Dean looked different. The planes of his face seemed a little more weathered, the lines more prominent. He was pale, paler than usual, and his hair was unkempt, longer than Sam had seen it since they were kids. 

“Dean. How long.”

“Ah, well. A year. About. Ten months, twenty-three days, thirteen hours, and uh,” he looked at his watch, “about fifteen minutes.”

Sam felt the air rush from his lungs. A year. Sam had endured this for forty hours and was already losing hope, Dean had been here almost a year. He couldn’t stop himself, he lunged forward again and wrapped his long arms around Dean again, around his shoulders, crushed him to his chest. Dean’s head was on his shoulder and Sam lowered his face to brush his cheek across the brittle strands of Dean's hair. Dean started to protest after a few seconds, so Sam dropped a light kiss on the top of Dean’s head and let him go. 

“Sorry.” Sam said, embarrassed by such a show of emotion. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So, how do we get outta here?”

Dean smiled at him weakly, suppressing a dry cough. “Well, that’s what we gotta figure out. But I gotta sit down first.”

Sam scooped up the blankets from the bed and Dean climbed onto it and propped himself up against the wall as he recounted the year. Dean explained about Barry, and the mysterious Doctor. About arriving too early and having to find work as a farmhand until Sam arrived. 

“Vic’s farm?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, how’dya know?”

Dean explained about getting sick, catching the flu at the worst possible time, right at the beginning of December, right when he knew Sam was coming. He was confined to the bed for days, devastatingly missing the opportunity to stake out the grave and watch for Sam’s arrival, something he’d planned the entire time. 

“Sorry Sam, I wanted… I tried to get there but I, I couldn't even lift my head. I mean, no theraflu, no tylenol, I thought I was dying. As soon as I could stand on my own I cam here.”

Sam reached for Dean's hand, he wanted to grab it and squeeze it an not let go, but settled for a reassuring pat. “It's fine, it's ok. I'm just… glad you're here. And ok.”

The talking tired Dean out more, and caused several coughing fits as well. Sam insisted he lie all the way down and get some sleep, the former he did extremely reluctantly, the latter almost immediately. 

Sam covered Dean with blankets and started a fire. Dean. Here. He just wanted to wrap him up in his arms and never let go, but blankets and a fire were probably more beneficial and would annoy him less. Sam looked at the line’s on Dean’s face as he slept, brushed his hair back from his too warm forehead. The strands had a bit more gray in them than Sam remembered. It hurt, physically, to see Dean like this, to think of him spending an entire year here alone. Being sick and alone. Sam settled into the bed as well when he felt his eyelids grow heavy. Tomorrow he’d get him fed up, and then they’d figure out a way out of here.”

~

So”, Sam said the next morning over breakfast, “This doctor, he said we can stop the angels? By, what, getting them to look at each other?”

“Something like that, yeah. So according to him, they only move when they're not being looked at. So, uh, if they freeze, but like, while looking at each other, they’ll be stuck forever? Or something?”

“Hmm, so it’s like quantum mechanics, right? The observer effect? It must be some kind of quantum locking defense mechanism. God that’s… that’s the most amazing monster we've ever encountered.”

Dean shot Sam an incredulous glance. “Really, Sam?” He tried to sound annoyed but deep down Dean was also beaming with pride, just a little, at his brilliant little brother.

“Right, sorry. Uh, so anyway. We get them to face each other. How? We’re gonna have to lure them towards each other, they won’t do it on purpose. So what? We’re the bait? You take one, I take the other?”

“Yeah, s’what I was thinking.”

“And if they catch us, god, we could be sent anywhere… separate anywheres.” Sam furrowed his brow and fiddled with his hands nervously.

Dean had thought of that, of course, but was also trying _not_ to think about it. He stood to walk over to Sam. “Not gonna happen. Not gonna let that happen. Promise.” He said, with a forced smile, then noticed what Sam was doing with his hands.

“Get married while I was away, Sammy?” he asked jokingly. Sam hadn’t realized until then that he had been twirling the ring around his finger, it still felt warm next to his skin. 

“Uh, I found this, actually. Was messing around with it the other night before you showed up and, uh, it’s stuck.” He smiled sheepishly and tugged on it gently for effect.

Dean laughed. “Oh, can’t even be ok without me for a day or two, can ya?” That was in jest, of course, but Sam knew there was truth in that statement. Dean took his hand. “Here, lemme help ya.” 

Dean reached into his back pocket and pulled out a travel size bottle of, fuck, lubricant?. “Really Dean? _How_ is this something that’s in your pocket in 1908? God, only you.”

Dean laughed, “Hey, before i got zapped here I had just been out at that damn dive, ya know. Always prepared. Got sent back here with everything I had in my pockets that night, what can I say? Besides, it’s come in handy since I’ve been stuck back here.” Sam groaned and blushed when Dean said that. “No, not for _that_. Geez. Working on a farm, there’s no WD-40 around here ya know, that’s all.”

Dean squeezed a small amount of the slippery liquid onto Sam’s finger and massaged it into the skin. The ring slipped off easily after that, Sam took it and tucked it into his pocket. “Thanks.” he said, smiling. 

They decided to wait a few more days before putting the plan into action. Sickness still lingered in Dean’s lungs, leaving him prone to coughing fits and too weak to run much if need be. He had earned some money while working the past year, and actually managed to save up enough to pay Florence for the shack for a few more days, as well as food and drink. They mostly hung around in the shack. Sam did some odd jobs here and there about town to pass the time, Dean slept and ate and visited the bar occasionally, also to pass the time.


	9. Chapter 9

Sunday it was _cold_. So fucking cold. Sam had started a fire early in the morning and they’d kept it going all day, but the temperature inside was still pretty uncomfortable. Dean threw logs on the fire. Stoked the fire. Cursed at the fire. Threw an andiron in the fire. None of those things made it any warmer in the room. “Jesus, how did people live before central heating. I’m growing fucking icicles in here.”

Sam just watched him with fond amusement. He was sitting as close to the fire as possible without being caught in the crossfire between it and Dean, wrapped in three woolen blankets. He peeled two of them off and offered them to Dean.

“Here. You need these more than I do anyway.” Dean snatched them with a huff and wrapped one around his shoulders, shivering into it. 

“It’s barely even night time yet, man it’s gonna get so much colder in here. God damn we need to get back home.”

“I know Dean, calm down” and Dean _glared_ at him. “Listen, let’s just, sit. You sit, here by the fire, and warm up ok? With the blankets? Oh and hey, this-” he said, producing half a bottle of whiskey, “this, oughtta help too, right?”

Dean reluctantly acquiesced, sinking to the rug, sitting across from Sam and leaning his back against the chair with his legs straight out in front of him. He reached for the bottle and took a long drink before passing the bottle back to Sam. 

Sam had been right, after about fifteen minutes, they both started to feel a lot warmer and drowsy under the effects of the crackling fire and the whiskey. Sam grabbed a pillow and stretched out in front of the fire, his head right by Dean’s knees. Dean let out a low laugh.

“Getting tired there Sammy?” Sam just hummed in response. “This reminds me,” Dean started, “do you remember that time in Sioux Falls? We were in this crummy motel waiting for dad for what, six days? And the damn heat broke.”

“Yeah. You were afraid to go to the office to get it fixed because you didn't want them to know we were there alone. God, yeah it was so cold.”

“Right?” Dean laughed again, “We pulled out every coat, scarf, glove we could find from Dad’s bags, the motel lost and found, hell, even other people’s rooms. I piled them all on you.”

“You said I looked like a real monster. I was so proud, kept trying to scare you. Jesus, I couldn’t have been any older than what? Eight?” Sam was laughing too, at the memory.

“Seven.” Dean answered, his voice suddenly serious. “You were sick, earlier that winter. Had a bad flu or somethin', I almost took you to the hospital. I- I was so scared. We made a game of it, you and me, with the coats and all, but, god I was just so scared you were gonna get sick again.” 

Sam turned his head on the pillow to face Dean. “I… I think I remember that. Being sick. I had a high fever, right?”

“Yeah Sammy.” Dean’s voice was hoarse.

“And you, you took care of me.”

“Yeah Sammy, ‘f course.” 

Dean closed his eyes, remembering that week Sam was sick. He had made him laugh with silly voices and cartoons, feeding him ice cream and the marshmallows out of the Lucky Charms when Dad wasn't around because those were the only things he could get him to eat.

"Hey, do you-” he started to ask, but Sam took a deep breath and exhaled a soft snore into the pillow. 

~

Sam hovered on the edge of waking up, feeling more content than he could remember feeling in months. The floor underneath him was hard, but he was surprisingly comfortable and relaxed. The fire was crackling warmly at his back, several blankets were cocooned around him tightly, and something else, hovering right outside his perception for a few seconds until he shifted a bit and realized what it was. Dean’s fingers carding through his hair. 

Dean’s fingers brushing the long strands back from where they fell across his face, Dean’s nails scraping lightly across his scalp, Dean’s thumb brushing lightly back and forth at the nape of his neck before lifting and repeating the cycle. Sam was afraid to move, thinking if Dean realized he was awake, he’d stop.  He didn't want him to stop, it felt amazing. Comforting and sweet and safe in a way he didn't think he could feel anymore. 

Sam was breathing deeply and deliberately now, but Dean had spent a lifetime sleeping in the same room as Sam, and he knew fake sleep when he saw it. He stilled his hand a bit but thought better of it. This was Sam, if he wanted Dean to stop he would’ve just sat up or brushed his hand away. He didn’t do either. Dean knew he should stop anyway, but he just couldn’t. Months. It had been months stuck here waiting for Sam. Hell it had been years waiting for Sam, waiting for him to come back from Stanford. Waiting for him to come back from hell. Waiting for his _soul_ to come back from hell. Waiting for forgiveness for Gadreel and so many other things. Dean felt, at that moment, that maybe he wouldn't have to wait anymore. This simple evening, sitting by the fire, feeling Sam’s scalp warm and pliant beneath his fingers, made it all worthwhile somehow. Like if this was all he ever got to have, it would be enough.

Sam finally stirred, rolling onto his back and pushing his head up a bit into Dean’s touch. “m’feels nice” he slurred, smiling sleepily up and Dean with eyes half open. Dean just smiled back at him, his cheeks rosy from the fire and whiskey, which was mostly gone was Sam had dozed off and entirely gone now. Sam was still feeling its effects, he felt warm and fuzzy around the edges, and like he was floating just a little bit off the ground. Or maybe that was from Dean’s touch, from the way Dean was gazing down at him like he was the only other person in existence. Sam had no desire to move ever again.

Maybe it was this whiskey. Maybe it was the feel of Sam’s hair on his palm, silken and soft. Maybe it was the crushing weight of all the time they’d spent apart finally being lifted from his shoulders. But something shifted inside Dean. It was painful and beautiful at once, and a clarity settled over him that he had never felt before. Clarity and bravery. Or stupidity.

 _Now_ he thought, _it’s now or never._

Dean slid down the floor until he was lying down as well, his head close to Sam’s, hovering just over the floor. Sam inched back to make room on the pillow and Dean rested his head on it, so close to Sam their noses were nearly touching. 

“Sam-” he started to speak but Sam lurched forward, slamming his lips into Dean’s, hard and insistent and desperate, his lips shaking for the briefest moment before Sam jerked back as if the kiss had burned him. 

“Oh. Oh god, Dean. Sorry. I dunno what… I just… _fuck_ ,” Sam looked terrified, his face screwed up in anguish and on the verge of tears, “I’m so sorry. I don't know-”

Calmly, Dean reached for Sam’s face, held his head gently between his hands. “Sammy?” he said, Shocked and in awe, “Sammy, no. Come here, I... just come here baby” and he pulled Sam’s lips back to his. Dean kissed him sweetly, just a soft press of his lips over Sam’s, first the top lip, then the bottom, his breath catching in his chest each time he inhaled. Dean held him close, one hand on either side of his head, just holding him steady. Sam exhaled and made a broken noise, like a whimper, and reached for Dean, one hand going to his waist, the other reaching up to grasp one of Dean’s. 

“Dean, wait” he whispered, pulling back slightly, “you? We can't? Is this-”

“Is this what, Sammy? Is this all kinds of fucked up? Well, yeah, probably. Is this what I want? Damnit, yes. So much. We can. We _can._ Is this… is it what you want?” and damn he’d meant to sound confident but his voice wavered. 

“I… always” was all Sam could say before Dean was kissing him again. 

Dean kissed Sam like it was the only thing in the world worth doing. At that moment, it really was. Gentle still at first, just exploring Sam’s soft lips, his shy smiles, allowing them both to get acclimated to this new way of touching. After a while Sam’s hand on his waist tightened, pulling him closer. Dean urged Sam’s lips open and slipped his tongue inside. Sam’s mouth was hot and slippery wet, it tasted strongly of whiskey and faintly of spearmint gum, and god it was intoxicating.

Dean slowly rolled Sam onto his back and propped himself up on one arm, leaning into him, one hand still caressing Sam’s head, the other roaming all over his chest, up and down his sides. All of a sudden the freezing room felt too hot. 

“Off” Dean growled, clawing at the blankets between them, wanting to get closer. The blankets were pushed aside and Sam rolled back onto his side, both of them facing each other, hands roaming all over each other, squeezing and rubbing and caressing. Sometimes kissing, sometimes just breathing each other’s air. Every few minutes Dean would freeze and pull back, amazed he was allowed to do this and making sure that it wasn’t a dream, that it was still ok. Each time Sam wrapped his arms tighter and pulled him back in. They kissed like that for what felt like hours, just kissed and embraced until both of their mouths were red and swollen with little bites and the rub of stubble. 

Sam couldn’t speak, couldn't think, couldn't do anything at all really, but react to the onslaught of Dean’s lips on his, and Dean’s hands on his body. His insides were buzzing, he was vaguely aware that he was shaking, his breathing was irregular, and his heart was beating rapidly and erratically. If he'd felt this way under any other circumstances, he’d probably have been seriously worried for his health, but at the moment all he could concentrate on was Dean's warm whiskey flavored mouth and it felt incredible. It felt dangerous. It felt like home. Everything was fuzzy and hazy and close, and _not quite defined_ as though this were all a dream, but _god_ he prayed it wasn’t. 

Dean’s hand reached down his back and firmly grasped his ass, pulling their bodies flush against one another. Sam could feel Dean’s erection through his jeans, it felt hot and utterly heart stopping. He pushed his hips forward more and moaned into his brother's mouth.

Dean pushed Sam flat on his back again, forcefully this time, lips still firmly connected. He ran his hand down his stomach to cup Sam’s cock, stroking it through the thick rough fabric. Dean paused and pulled back just a little, Sam’s eyes were squeezed tight, his lips parted as he struggled to control his breathing. 

“Sam.” Dean's voice was thick, “Sam, open your eyes, ok?” and he did. Dean knew they were hurtling towards the point of no return, and he had to be _sure._ “Sam, this is… well, I don’t know what this is, but are you sure this is what you want?”

Sam didn't trust himself to speak, but he answered the best he could, by grabbing Dean’s hand that was still settled lightly between his legs and _grinding_ into it, chasing after Dean’s lips at the same time. Dean understood this to be yes, he undid the button on Sam’s jeans and pulled down the zipper, slipping his hand inside, under the waistband of his shorts and wrapped his hand around Sam’s erection.

Sam cried out and bucked his hips when Dean’s calloused fingers slid down the length of his cock. It was difficult to maneuver within the confines of the fabric, and Dean knelt back to yank the clothes down Sam’s legs, jeans and shorts together, and toss them aside. He took the opportunity to remove his own clothes as well, and finally to pull Sam’s shirt over his head. 

Once they were both fully undressed, Dean lay back down at Sam’s side, leaning into him, kissing his lips, dragging his mouth over Sam’s ear, his neck, licking and biting playfully as he went. Dean couldn’t get enough, his own erection throbbing, jumping every time it brushed up against Sam’s hip, Dean was hard and leaking already and he hadn't even touched himself. He wanted to, god he did, but he wanted to touch Sam more. Wanted to take Sam apart. He wrapped his hand back around Sam’s cock, stroking up and down, running his thumb over the precome slicked head over and over again as he peppered kissed along any part of Sam’s face or neck he could reach.

“God Sammy,” Dean couldn’t hold back the words now, the dam had broke, and everything he’d been holding inside since he’d found him again, since the trials, since _forever,_ came pouring out. “Fuck. Needed you. Wanted you. God, missed you. Missed so much.” Sam reached over and placed a hand on the back of Dean’s neck, unable to speak except to breath out one syllable, _Dean._

“God Sammy. Look at you. Need you. Sammy. So much. Please. _Please._ ”

Sam’s orgasm took him suddenly, Dean’s voice cutting through his haze like a knife, searing hot with pleasure. He moaned aloud, not words, just sounds, just the beginning of Dean’s name, and he shook and shivered and came over his brother’s hand. Dean continued stroke him, lighter and lighter as his tremors subsided. 

Dean was overwhelmed, the feeling of Sam twitching and pulsing beneath him was the most erotic, the most beautiful feeling in existence. His own erection throbbed almost painfully now, and he rutted against Sam’s hip, thrusting one, twice, and then coming in thick hot spurts across Sam’s stomach, whispering into Sam’s skin, too quiet to hear but Sam could feel the words on Dean’s lips all the same. “You. Love. Need. You.”

Dean collapsed, his head on Sam’s shoulder as they both lay panting. Sam reached lazily to his side and retrieved some article of clothing to wipe away the mess cooling on this stomach, then grabbed one of the blankets he’d been wrapped in earlier, throwing it over them both. He wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled him close, slowly regaining the ability to speak.

“Love you too. Dean, I love you.” Dean sighed and shivered slightly, burrowing further under the blanket. Sam wrapped him up tighter in his arms as they drifted off to sleep right there on the floor in front of the fire.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean woke in the early hours of the morning, still laying on top of one of Sam's arms. The fire was dying out beside them and the single blanket that Sam threw over them earlier was not enough to keep off the chill. Still, Dean hesitated to nudge Sam awake and over to the bed, worried that it would break whatever spell they had been under the night before. The night before had been… well, a single adjective escaped him to be honest. Unexpected? Amazing? Ill-advised? Everything? Yes, _everything._

He wasn't quite sure why he ended up initiating this the way he did, although he guessed it was the culmination of the whiskey, and the lingering fever, and the long, empty year he had spent alone. It wasn’t something he ever really considered before, not seriously, but now he wondered how the inevitability of it could have escaped him for so long. He would have always ended up doing it, one way or another, he mused. Maybe after a  particularly dangerous hunt, or on some quiet Kansas Christmas, or maybe with his final breath. Dean’s sure there’s no possible future in which he wouldn’t have taken at least one soft kiss from Sam’s lips. The fact that he was living in a scenario where Sam returned it felt nothing short of miraculous.

Something gnawed at him, though, something born of the perpetual guilt and protectiveness he could never shake. Sam had clearly been _going through something_. All the times Dean caught him staring at him with a pained look, each time Sam went to speak but then thought better of it and left the room, the webpage Sam had been reading before he disappeared. Dean suddenly had a sickening feeling, like he’d done something terribly wrong. Like he’d taken advantage of this vulnerability he hadn’t realized was there. 

Sam stirred a bit beneath him, slowly waking up as well. He grinned and hummed contentedly, placing a small kiss on Dean’s forehead. “Mmm, so that wasn't just a dream, then.” he said, casual and confident as could be, suppressing a yawn.

Dean sat up a bit and looked down at Sam, breath momentarily leaving him at the sight before him. Sam, eyes puffy from sleep, hair fanned out in every direction on the pillow, soft light of the dying fire throwing shadows across his perfect face. 

“Yeah, not a dream. I can tell because of how much my ass it hurtin' from the hard floor. Mind if we, uh-” Dean motioned towards the bed.

Sam smiled and nodded in agreement. He hopped up, rubbing the should Dean had been laying on minutes before, and led the way, blankets in tow. Sam settled himself in the bed and reached to pull Dean back over to him, but Dean stiffened slightly. 

“Uh, Dean listen. If we need to talk about this-”

Yeah, Sam, uh, listen.” he started, sitting up to face Sam. “I know you’ve been going’ through some stuff since… I know. I, uh, if you, if you’re not goin’ along with this for the right... I mean, you didn’t need to. I… I… shit.” 

Dean didn’t have a clue how to say this, and Sam was peering up at him looking for all the world like a confused puppy, which didn’t help.  

“Listen, I saw, that night before you got sent back, the other night for you, the website you were on. About, uh, trauma? And man, I didn’t  know, ok? I didn’t know. I thought you were just still pissed at me sometimes, and that was ok. But I just wanna make sure, I mean, I want you to know…” _Christ I sound like an idiot_ he thought.

Sam sat up before Dean could start talking again and leaned in to kiss him. “You think I’m traumatized? And that I did this-” he motioned between them with his hand “because of it? I don’t, I don’t even know where to start.” 

Dean thought for a second that Sam was angry, but his tone was so soft.

“First off, always first from now on, and  most important, I did this because I wanted to, and because you wanted it too. God, Dean, honestly? I it, it's a thought I'd had before, years ago, I felt- I felt so fucked in the head about it. Maybe I _am_ fucked in the head I guess but then, so are you?”

Dean chuckled.

“Second, that, uh, website? I was kinda looking at it for you.” Dean started to interrupt him but Sam held up his hand. “No, let me finish. Dean, you _died_ and then _turned into a demon_ and went off doing god knows what, and you still had the mark, I know how it made you feel and I- you never said, not all of it, but I knew. And I know it haunts you. I’ve… I’ve heard you have nightmares, Dean. And you’ve been  irritable. And, well, careless, unfocused. And just... distant sometimes. And I-”

Dean shook his head. “Yeah Sammy but you were too. For months before that. I know what I did was wrong, after the trials, you made that clear. But you couldn’t forgive me for that, you took yourself away from me man.”

Sam started to say something but Dean cut him off.

“ And… and I tried to _kill you_ Sam. And the things I said… you didn’t even wanna be my brother before that, and after what I did… I was so tired of chasin’ after you, tryin’ to get you to forgive me, trying to get us back to where we were. And how could I ask you to, anyway, when I don’t have a leg to stand on. I don’t expect that. So yeah, I guess I was distracted-”

“And anxious. And moody. And-”

“Yeah maybe that too. Just thinkin' about all this mess. All my mistakes.”

Sam reached out and took Dean’s hands in his, held them tightly. “Of course I forgive you. Completely. You- you’ll always be my family, no matter what stupid shit one of us says when we’re mad. I didn’t mean it, not any of it. I was just so _pissed_ that you lied, that you didn’t trust me. All I've wanted for so long was to make it right between us again. And when I lost you, when you died I knew I’d do anything in the world to get you back. No matter how dishonest, no matter how depraved. I understand what you did, Dean, because I did it too. And now, now I just worry about you. All the time. Because you don’t go through what you went through without having some issues to work out.” There were tears in his eyes when he finished speaking.

Dean leaned in and wrapped his arms around Sam, rubbing his cheek on Sam’s soft hair.

“Ok, Sammy, it’s ok.” And it wasn’t, not really, not yet but _that_ was ok. “Come on,” he tugged Sam back towards the pillow, “Let's get some sleep.”

~

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, they headed back to the cemetery to plan out what they would do. They took note of the locations of the two angels (they hoped it was just the two).  Sam had been by there a few times over the last few days and the angels always seemed to be in different locations, although never really very far from one another. They always looked a little different, hands in different positions, arms pointed this was or that, and it would have been difficult to keep track of them if not for the circular symbols carved on their arms.

Sam pulled the ring from his pocket and compared to the angel from a safe distance. “Dean. Look, the carvings, they kinda match, right? Different but the same kind of design, predominantly circular patterns. Like whoever did these,” gesturing to the angel, “carved this ring, too. And, like, what? Left it for me to find? It can’t just be a coincidence. But why? What’s it for?”

“No idea. But better hang on to that thing, who knows, may be important later.”

They spent the next few hours working out the plan. The path through the cemetery was winding, trees and grave markers here and there. It seemed, depending on where they started, that if they both took specific paths to the same area, the angels wouldn't necessarily be aware they were headed towards each other until it was too late. If they managed to simultaneously duck out of the way at the correct moment, it was just possible the angels could be trapped the way the Doctor had explained. Sam and Dean went over multiple scenarios, based on various starting points, a few of which they quickly realized would not work. Sam roughly calculated their chances of success based on those various scenarios. 

“We should try to stay with the first couple we ran through, with big angel and little angel separated by this row of trees here, like when they first got me. They’re positioned that way often, presumably to lower the chances of accidentally glancing at each other. If things don't look good tomorrow we can always try again- hey, what?”

Dean had been spellbound and grinning stupidly while watching Sam as he paced from side to side between the graves, pointing out the best paths to take, being brilliant, as usual. “Nothin’. You’re just a genius is all,” he said fondly, before he could stop himself, then, clearing his throat, “I mean, you know, good thing one of us has some smarts, right?”

Sam shook his head. “Yeah, right, pretty sure you’ve outsmarted me on a number of occasions.”

“Ah, well, true. We’re both geniuses, then,” he said, just to see Sam smile again. Dean knew their roles, he was the muscle and Sam was the brains. Hell, Sam was the brains _and_ the muscle. 

“No, I mean it,” Sam continued, seeing through Dean’s attempt to make light of the subject. He took a few steps forward. “I mean, you made it here, with nothing, for almost a year. I was ready to throw in the towel after a day and a half. And the message I sent you? On the grave? Where do you think I got the idea from? Same thing you did, remember? Almost everything I know I learned from you. Everything important, anyway.”

Dean looked down at the ground, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, so he said “Yeah, well” which seemed like enough.

“Come on,” Sam continued, “let’s head home.” And Dean snapped his head up and quirked an eyebrow at that. Home? Sam didn't consider anywhere home. Not the bunker, that’s for sure. Not anywhere else that he could think of. Sam reached out and took Dean’s hand, giving it a small squeeze, and as if he could read Dean’s mind, “Yeah, I know. It’s just, with you. I’d been thinking to be a _home_ a place had to look a certain way, smell a certain way, you know? But that’s stupid. Anywhere can be home.”

Dean’s heart melted at that, he pulled Sam close and leaned up to place a small, sweet kiss on Sam’s cheek. God, it felt cheesy doing that, but he was beginning to realize that cheesy felt pretty damn good from time to time. “Alright enough of this Lifetime special shit, let’s go.”


	11. Chapter 11

Back at the shack they sat down with some stew and whiskey to rehash their plans one more time. 

“God, I can’t wait to get back there. Cheeseburgers and heat and drivin’ instead of walkin’ everywhere. And television, man you don’t know how bored I’ve been here. Oh and good pain killers, damn the medical community around here knows less that I do. I just wanna get back there and forget all about those damn time travelin’ angels.”

Dean looked up at Sam with a smile, but Sam looked incredibly concerned all of a sudden. “Dean, what if… I mean, so we stop the angels now, that means they won’t have been around to get us and send us back, right?”

“Yeah, Sammy, I mean that’s the plan, right? That’s how we’re gonna get home.”

Sam had been standing by the fire, stoking it, and very carefully and deliberately placed the poker back in the holder before speaking. “This… this won’t, I mean, we’ll…” he leaned over a bit, bracing his hands on his thighs and breathing shallow. 

Dean rushed over to him, taking Sam by the shoulders and standing him up again. Sam reached out and cupped the side of Dean’s face in his hands, tears forming in his eyes. Dean was worried and confused.

“Sammy, what?”

Sam held onto dean’s face, almost afraid to let the contact between them end. “What if we _will_ forget about it? This” he said, gesturing between them, “wouldn’t have happened, would never have happened. And if we forget all this, we would have never… we’ll never…”

Dean finally understood what Sam was saying. Christ, he was probably right. “Sam, listen, we’ll remember somehow.” The words tasted like lies on his lips, but even if he couldn’t convince himself, he could try to convince Sam. Try to erase that pain he saw blooming behind Sam’s eyes, because Sam’s pain was Dean’s pain, and he wanted it to stop. He moved close, crowding Sam back against the wall and buried his nose in Sam’s neck.

“I won’t forget, Sammy. I won’t. How could I?” He inhaled deeply, his face inches from Sam’s throat. “You think I could forget how you smell, right here?” He leaned in and placed his mouth over the soft skin of Sam’s neck and licked gently. “Or forget how you taste here, all salty and hot?” He moved his body closer still, so they were pressed tight together, and raised his face towards Sam’s. “How you feel all flustered and hard pushed up against me?” He accented his words with a small thrust of his hips against the growing bulge in Sam’s jeans, and Sam was almost whimpering now, panting over Dean’s mouth. “No, Sammy that’s not something I could forget. I’ll find a way to remember. I’ll have to.” Dean’s voice was raw with emotion when he finished, and it didn't feel like a lie anymore.

“Dean.” was all Sam could say, and it came out small and ragged. He shifted slightly to cover the hair’s breadth of space between them and captured Dean’s mouth with his own. Sam had been so nervous the night before, so overwhelmed, and he had been happy to let Dean lead the way, but right now he needed to take control. Maybe it was the fact that after tomorrow they’d probably forget all about this anyway, or maybe it was the way Dean felt so god damned delicious pressed up against him, but this time Sam felt courageous. 

Sam grabbed Dean around the hips and walked him backwards as he deepened their kiss. Dean reached for Sam’s belt, but Sam swatted his hand away and pushed him down onto the bed. Sam never broke eye contact as he unbuttoned and removed his shirt, then reached down to finish unbuckling his belt. He shucked his jeans and shorts in one swift motion and knelt naked on the bed next to Dean.

“Jesus, Sammy.” Dean stared at him with glassy eyes and moved to remove his t-shirt. Sam brushed his hands aside again and reached his own hands underneath Dean’s shirt,  rubbing his hands along Dean’s stomach and chest while lifting the shirt over his head. He placed his hands softly on Dean’s shoulders and nudged him backwards to get him to lie back. Dean hesitated for a second, reticent to relinquish control, but then complied, because denying Sam anything when Sam was naked and hard next to him would be impossible. Sam straddled Dean’s legs and undid the button, the zipper, and grasped the waistband of Dean’s jeans and shorts. Dean raised his hips slightly so Sam could pull them all the way off. 

Sam ran his hands up Dean’s legs, thumbs grazing the crease at his groin, then slid them up his chest as he climbed up the bed to place his face next to Dean’s again. Whispering, like he didn’t quite have the confidence to deliver the line out loud, he said “Tell me what you want me to do to you?” and Dean let out a low moan as he wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders.

“Everything.” Dean answered, because it was true. Anything and everything Sam could possibly want to do, Dean wanted it too, by default. He pulled Sam down on top of him, he felt crushed and claustrophobic and too too hot and _perfect_ , just fucking perfect writhing and sweating and moaning under Sam’s weight. 

Sam took his mouth again, biting at Dean’s lips, forcing his way into Dean’s mouth, tasting and taking. “Tell me,” he growled through clenched teeth. He dragged his lips down Dean’s neck, “tell me all the things I can do to you.” he bit down hard right above Dean’s collarbone and Dean gasped Sam’s name like a prayer. 

“S-Sammy, oh god. I- I want you everywhere. Inside me Sammy, I want to feel you inside me. For days, I want to feel like you’ll never leave me again, _fuck_ , please.” Afterwards Dean would feel embarrassed by that, for begging, because really, people begged him, not the other way around. But this wasn’t _people_ , this was Sam, and right then, with his cock trapped between their stomachs, with Sam's erection pressing into his thigh, god, it was all he wanted. He’d felt so empty for years, like there was always something that was missing from his soul, and maybe there really was, but if anyone could fill him up it, if anyone could sooth that ache, it would be Sam. 

Sam shivered and placed his hands on either side of Dean’s head, bringing their foreheads together before turning his head slightly and kissing Dean softly on the lips. “Dean, I… I’ll never leave you, not ever again. I know I’m not… I’m not ok without you. I pretended to be,” kiss, “pretended I didn’t need you,” kiss, “that I didn't need _this_ ,” kiss, “but I do, god I do.” Sam kissed Dean over and over again, all over his face, sweetly and gently, tried to communicate everything he could with those kisses, tried to convince Dean that no, he wouldn't leave, because this is love and Dean is everything, and god because maybe in another day he won't even remember this and _fuck_ accepting that as a possibility because life can’t really be that cruel can it?

Dean let his brother’s words wash over him, he knew Sam meant was he was saying, and even if this all went to shit tomorrow, he’d have always heard those words. Even if he forgot them, even if time erased this for them, it was happening and it was real. Dean scraped his nails down Sam’s broad back pulled him close, grinding them together as jolts of pleasure tickled his spin and curled his toes.

Being on top of Dean, holding him down, slipping and sliding up and down against him, wringing soft moans and throaty growls from his mouth, christ it was addicting. Sam could have done it for hours. But not tonight, tonight he needed more, Dean needed more, and he’d be damned if he let him down again. Sam kissed his mouth one last time, deep and soulful, before shifting further down the bed to rest between Dean’s legs. Dean hitched his knees up and placed his feet flat on the bed, thighs trembling as Sam pushed them wider apart. Sam wanted to take his time, be properly worshipful in this, Dean deserved nothing less. He dipped his head down slowly and rubbed his parted lips over the head of Dean’s cock. Dean took a sharp breath and his hand flew immediately to Sam’s head, tangling his fingers loosely in the long brown hairs. 

“Sammy, oh god.”

Sam grasped the base of Dean’s erection with his hand and explored the head with his mouth. It was fascinating, all the different tastes and textures there. Salty and bitter and sweet; hard and pliant and silky. He opened his mouth and sunk down until his lips met his hand and sucked hard. Dean groaned and tightened his fingers in Sam’s hair as Sam pulled up slowly, swirling his tongue as he went. Dean’s cock was magnificent, Sam thought, because of course it was. Not quite as large as his own, but long and plump and curved slightly to the left, and it fit perfectly between the hollows of Sam’s cheeks. It was insanely erotic, feeling Dean twitch and leak into his mouth, hearing the noises Dean was making and knowing _he_ was the cause. It was empowering and humbling all at once to have Dean coming to pieces beneath him.

Sam pulled off and reached up to the table where Dean had tossed the lube the day before, chuckling at the memory. Sam stared at the bottle for a moment, unsure of what to do next. This was uncharted territory. Sure, he knew the basics, of course, but he wasn’t sure he knew enough to avoid hurting Dean. Dean, of course, seemed to sense his apprehension. 

“S’ok. I’ll tell you if something’s wrong. Don’ worry. Come on.” And wasn’t that just like Dean, taking care of Sam even now. Sam smiled shyly and flicked the bottle open and placed it by Dean’s hip before bending down to take him in his mouth again. 

Dean felt the movement as Sam went to squeeze some of the lube onto his fingers, so he was expecting the touch, but jumped a little all the same when he felt Sam’s blunt slippery finger tease his entrance. God, the kid had big hands, didn’t he? But Sam was cautious, moving so slowly it almost felt like he wasn’t moving at all. Sam applied gentle pressure and Dean felt the slick tip of Sam;s finger slip inside him. “Fuck” he said and Sam’s head flew up, eyes full of concern. “No, keep going.” 

Sam moved slowly still, pausing now and then to place sloppy open mouth kisses along Dean’s still hard shaft. He slipped his finger all the way inside, moving it in small circles while Dean moaned above him. Carefully Sam pushed a second finger forward, marveling at the tight heat. 

By the time Sam had three fingers inside him, Dean was a wreck. His thighs were trembling. His chest heaved up and down as he gulped in a huge breath, then held it for a few seconds for shakily pushing it out again. He was writhing on the bed, damn near _whimpering_. Sam’s fingers inside him felt electric, like they were touching him _everywhere_ inside. Every now and then a finger would graze over just the right spot and Dean’s hips would buck involuntarily. 

“Sam” he said finally, “Sammy, now. C’mere”

Sam withdrew his fingers and placed a small kiss on Dean’s inner thigh before moving, propping himself up over his brother and kissing him again. Dean reached over to the side of the bed and retrieved the two pillows he had pushed out of the way earlier, sliding them up under his lower back.

“Uh, it might be easier if you flipped over?” Sam said, his voice sounding tight and foreign to his own ears, because wouldn’t it? Christ, he really wasn’t sure.

“No” Dean answered, his voice low and hoarse, “wannna watch you.”

Sam felt a shiver down his spine, because _that_? That was fucking hot. He flicked the lube open again and squeezed some onto his hand. He ran it over the length of his cock and the first touch was jolting, he hadn't realized how hard he was until just then, and got it felt amazing. He used as much lube as he thought necessary, and then a little more, just to be safe. Sam positioned himself and lined himself up with Dean’s hole, and felt an astonishing level of fear he hadn’t experienced before. 

“Don’t let me do it wrong.” he whispered in a small voice, he felt foolish, childish, as soon as the words left his mouth, but Dean just cupped his neck and pulled him close for a kiss.

“I trust you.”

Sam took a deep breath and slowly pushed forward, feeling the tight skin give and stretch to accommodate him. After a few seconds, he felt the head of his cock slip entirely inside, and god, was it amazing, all heat and tightness. Almost too much, but not nearly enough at the same time. It would never be enough, he thought, not when it was Dean. Sam bit his lip and pressed forward, glacially slow, checking Dean’s face for any indication of discomfort.

As Sam’s cock slowly slid into him, Dean felt alive, alight with everything inside himself he thought had turned dark years ago. It burned a little, yeah, that slow stretch as Sam filled him, but Dean had burned for real. He’d burned in hell for thirty years and he burned in anger when Sam had gone away and he’d burned from the inside out with the mark on his arm. This burn was different, sweeter and _bigger_ than anything that had come before it, and because it came from Sam, it was a gift, a fucking treasure. Dean felt every inch of Sam as he sunk into him. Sam’s arms were shaking from tension and there was concern on his face, all that confidence he’d had in the beginning was melting away. Dean needed to encourage him, praise him, let him know how wonderful he was.  

“That’s it, Sammy. That’s so good. You’re doing so good. Amazing, god it’s amazing.”

Once Sam was all the way, he lowered himself down to take Dean’s lips again. Sam kissed him like he was drowning and Dean was air, rough and sloppy and desperate. His body was singing, throbbing with silken pleasure at the place where they were joined. Dean hooked a leg over Sam’s and pulled him closer, deeper. The feeling was overwhelming, being _inside_ Dean, closer than they had ever been, but it was more than physical now, like he couldn't tell where he ended and Dean began. Their souls were tangling together, joining, just like the rest of them. Dean reached down from Sam’s shoulder to his lower back, gently urging.

“Go ‘head Sammy. Move.”

Sam started sliding in and out, Dean’s muscles clenching and clinging to him as he moved. The sensation was indescribable, almost unbearable, so much more than simple pleasure, so much sharper. Sam could feel it everywhere, concentrated in his groin but stretching, reaching down his legs and up his back, to his head making it feel too heavy, foggy, to his heart, his heart most of all, it felt like it would leap out of his body if he opened his mouth too wide. It was frightening at first, and overpowering. Sam finally gave into it, collapsed onto Dean and cocooned his arms around him, buried his face in his neck and gave up control.

Dean sensed the moment Sam finally let go. He clasped one hand tightly around Sam’s shoulders and slid his other hand up into Sam’s long hair, felt him shaking under his touch. 

“God, Sammy, so good. It’s ok, baby. It’s so good.” He kissed Sam’s temple, his ear, whatever parts of Sam he could reach.

Sam felt like he was on the edge of losing control, but Dean’s voice in his ear kept him grounded. “Keep. Talking.” he plead.

Sam’s voice sounded rough and needy, like he _needed_ it, needed Dean. 

“Yeah. Yeah, ok.” Dean’s voice was just above a whisper. “Sammy, god. I can’t… I can't describe how you feel. It’s so good. So perfect. Your cock, god, you fucking me nice and slow like that, oh _fuck_ yeah. Feels like heaven. Nah, fuck that, so much better than heaven. You’re, god, you’re rubbing up and down on my...” Dean paused, surprising himself by feeling a little self conscious, before continuing, “on my dick, jesus, just like that, and you're inside me, god so deep inside me. Everywhere. God, just like that, you’re gonna make me come, Sammy, all over us. _Christ_.

Sam shuddered, he freed one hand from where he was gripping Dean’s shoulder and reached down between them to grasp Dean’s cock. Dean came last time without Sam even touching him, this time he wanted his hands in the right place. Propping himself on his other arm he stroked Dean rough and fast in his trembling hand. Dean was far less eloquent now, just panting “Sam” and “Fuck” and “Yeah” as Sam jerked him faster, drove into him harder.

“Sam… com-” was all Dean could say, he wrapped both arms tightly around Sam and bucked underneath him as his orgasm ripped through him. He could feel Sam hard and unyielding inside him as his muscles rippled and clenched all around, his come spilling over Sam’s hand and onto his chest. Sam’s hand slowed as the waves coursing through him died down. Dean felt exhausted and devastated in the most beautiful way, tears trickling from the corners of his eyes. 

The sensations of Dean’s orgasm pushed Sam closer to the edge, he kissed Dean deeply, trying to catalog every sensation- the flavor and softness of Dean’s mouth, the warm sticky mess sliding under his stomach, the dying flutters of Dean’s ass hole around him, Sam wanted to memorize all of it. He knew what was waiting for them and he didn't want _this_ to end. He held off as long as possible, barely allowing himself to move, before thrusting hard and fast into Dean and letting out a strangled cry, growling out Dean’s name long and low like an ancient chant, as he emptied himself. 

“Dean. Dean. Dean.” Sam said over and over again, peppering kisses over Dean’s face and neck. “That was. I can’t. _God_.

“Shh… I know.” Dean said, smiling to himself and smoothing Sam’s hair beneath his palm, “god, I know. It’s ok Sammy.” He rolled them over a bit, feeling Sam’s softened cock slip out of him, warm come trickling down the cleft of his ass, it felt slimy and uncomfortable and should have felt gross, but it didn’t. Because it also felt _incredible_ , along with a dull ache Dean was sure would increase the next day, because it was proof. Proof that Sam had been there. He rolled Sam onto his back and lay beside him, facing him. Sam’s eyes were screwed shut. 

“Sam, look at me.”

Sam turned his head towards his brother and opened his eyes. God, what a sight to behold, Sam thought. Dean, his short hair sticking in all directions, cheeks flushed, face relaxed in a lazy smile. Dean looked younger than he had in years, endorphins flooding through his system smoothing out the worry lines that too often covered his face. Sam reached up and raced a finger along Dean’s hairline and down his jaw, then pulled him close for a soft kiss. 

“I won’t ever leave you again, Dean. Don’t leave me. Never again.”

Dean flinched a bit - they’d spent years running from each other, hadn’t they? And how here they were with these whispered promises to never do it again. But this? This wasn’t real. It was a temporary interlude, and there was a good chance it would all be done tomorrow, that this Sam and Dean will have never existed. If they’re successful, there’ll never be a Dean who knows what Sam feels like moving inside him, what Dean’s name sounds like in Sam's mouth as he comes. The thought was unbearable, he pushed it down and away and kissed Sam playfully on the nose, the cheeks, the chin. 

“Never again, baby.”

They lie like that for a long while, not really moving, not talking, just snuggled into each other’s arms. They were exhausted, but neither one wanted to fall asleep, just content to rest and listen to the other one breathe, not wanting sleep to steal and of the precious few moments from them. 

Eventually, though, they did drift off, though. First Sam, then Dean shortly after.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean woke the next morning feeling healthier than he had in nearly a year, the lingering cough and fatigue from his flu finally receding. He squinted in the light filtering in through the wood slats. He could feel Sam's body, warm at his side and turned towards it.

“Morning, sleepy beauty,” Sam smiled at him.

“Shut it,“ Dean replied, grinning and stretching his arms over his head.

Sam slipped his arms around Dean's waste and pulled him closer.

“Mmmm… warm.” 

The snuggled into each other like that for a while, sleepily and lazily passing the morning and early afternoon until it because ridiculous to stay in the bed any longer.

They dressed in comfortable silence and headed outside. Sam turned and took a long look around the shack he’d come to call home over the past few days. If all went right this afternoon, they’d never see this place again. They’d never have seen it at all. He walked, a few steps behind Dean, in the direction of the cemetery. 

It was too early to implement their plan, people were still milling about, but they wanted to scope out the area first, take note of anything that may have moved since they were there last. The angels seemed to be in pretty convenient positions, Sam wasn't really sure if that relieved him or infuriated him. They hung back, in a remote corner, until all the mourners had cleared out. The chilly afternoon was stretching slowly into early evening, and Sam and dean leaned up against a particularly large headstone and waited in silence. 

Sam watched the sun slink down towards the horizon, the knot in his stomach doing bounces and flips as he thought about what they might be giving up. He turned towards Dean, ready suggest they get going, get this over with, but that’s not what came out. 

“I can’t, Dean. I… oh god.” and just like that he was sobbing. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, rubbing soothing trails up and down Sam’s back, tangling his fingers in Sam’s hair. He pulled Sam’s tear streaked face close to his own as he spoke.

“Yes you can, Sammy. We can. It’s ok, baby I promise. We’ll make it, ok? We can’t stay here. We need to get back.”

Sam didn't hear any of it, not really. All he could think of was going back to not having _this_ anymore. To going back to their life as they had been living it, cold silences and uncomfortably long stretches of highway, bickering, keeping secrets. He wouldn't even know what he’d lost, that was the worst of it, this shining beautiful moment in their lives, if it had to end, fine, but for no one to even remember it? To not be able to keep it in his heart, cherish it the way he wanted? No.

And god, what if their plan didn’t work? What if the angels outsmart them, and they end up sent… somewhere. Separate somewheres. He knew he couldn't live out the rest of his natural life without Dean, he just couldn't, and he suspected the same of his brother. 

“I promise you.” Dean said, more serious than Sam had ever seen him, “if we are separated, I will find you. If we are together, I will, _we_ will find this. Again.”

Sam felt embarrassed then, for crying, because Dean was looking at him like he was something precious, and promising. Sam swallowed down one last sob.

“You’re right. Dean. I… sorry, I don’t know-” Dean pulled him into a tight hug and Sam stopped talking, he knew he didn’t need to explain. Dean was shaking a little now, too, and his breath was shallow. He kissed Sam deeply before breaking the embrace.

“It’ll work. It has to. You and me-”

“Come whatever.” Sam finished for him. He nodded once, then, with a weak smile, “OK, let’s do this.”

~

Sam turned and walked towards his chosen angel, and Dean did the same. No more words now, no more kisses. Sam fingered the ring in his pocket, suddenly aware of its presence. It felt hot again, burning almost, he could feel it on his leg through his jeans. What the hell? The closer he got to the angel, the hotter it burned. He wanted to take it out, inspect it, but he was afraid of taking his eyes off the angel it this point. Not until he heard Dean’s signal.

Dean approached the angel. He’s almost close enough to give the signal, almost close enough to start running back. Running towards Sam, like he always has. Like he always wants to. Two more steps. One. Ready.

Dean whistles loudly and unmistakably, turns and _runs_.

Somewhere, far across the graveyard, he hears Sam’s heavy footed running as well.

Less than a minute later he was close enough to hear Sam’s breathing. God he wanted to look up at him, but he knew he couldn’t look up. 

_Please god don’t make me a liar._

Almost there. 

_Please god don’t let me forget._

Pass this tree. 

_Please god don’t let him forget._

Around this grave. 

_Please god don’t let me forget._

Ten feet. 

_Please god don’t let me forget._

Five feet.

_Please god don’t let me forget._

Reached out his hand. Sam. Sam’s hand. 

_Please god let this work. Please god don’t let me forget._

~

“Shaked and baked. Let’s roll.” Dean said, turning towards Sam. 

Sam smiled, exhausted. “Yeah. God it’s hot out here. Let’s go.”


	13. Chapter 13

They drove back to the motel room in silence, as usual. The air between them had been tense for ages. This were… better than they were right after Dean got back, but not by much. Most of their time together was filled with awkward silence and brooding. Sam sighed. God it made him sad. It made him tired. 

They took turns showering then grabbed a bite to eat from the sports bar in town. Dean had too much to drink and Sam had to fight him for the keys to drive home, which Dean complained about loudly the whole way. They were both silent once they got back to the room the second time, and went to sleep that night without another word. 

The next morning was bright and hot, Dean awoke with a headache, raising his hand to block out the bright light shining through the hotel blinds. Sam had already woken up and left for a run. He’d made coffee, though, and even left a cup’s worth in the pot, for which Dean was thankful.

Sam strolled back in about forty five minutes later, dripping with sweat, and hit the shower. After he dressed he picked up his dirty clothes from the night before to pack them up in his case when something burned his hand. “Damnit” he said, and dropped the jeans to the floor. He reached gingerly into the pocket and pulled out a small silver colored ring with strange carvings on it. It was burning hot in his hand and he tossed it to the floor.

“What the? That’s not mine, where’d that come from?” Sam asked aloud.

“I dunno what gets into your pockets Sammy, that’s all you.”

He touched it again, tapped at it with his finger. It was _glowing_ now. What the hell?

Just as he went to poke at it again, there was a knock at the door. Sam looked over at Dean “You expecting anyone?”

“What do you think?” he answered, walking towards the door. He cracked the door open as far as the chain would allow and peered outside. A strange looking older gentleman and a suit stood there, with an expectant look on his face.

“Ah. Yes. Good.” the man said in a thick Scottish accent. “So, you going to ask me in then?”

“Uh, no man. Think you got the wrong room.” Dean said through the crack. 

“What do you mean..? Oh! Yes, ok then. Got it. Um, well, thing is, we met, once. But then we didn’t. Long story, you probably wouldn’t be able to keep up anyway.”

Dean went to slam the door but the man had it blocked with his foot.

“Oh and the ring, yes, your brother has my ring, I’ll be needing that back!”

Dean hesitated, how did this old joker know about that? Had he slipped it to Sam the night before? Somehow tucked it in Sam’s pocket without either of them noticing? He nodded, and the man removed his foot from the door jam so Dean could close it and remove the latch. He opened it again fully and gestured for the man to come inside and sit at the table. 

“Ah, and you must be Sam. Hello Sam, pleasure to meet you. Dean here’s told me about you. Not that he remembers of course. You’re the smart one I take it?”

“What. The fuck.” was all Sam could muster

“And that’d be mine. Thanks.” he said, stooping to pick up the ring with a handkerchief.

“Listen you better start talking. How do you know me. And Sam. How’d you get that ring in his pocket?”

The Doctor sat down and took a deep breath. “Where to begin. I’m the Doctor. I met you, but in a timeline that’s been undone. You don’t remember it now.” 

“Wait” Sam interrupted. “If we met you in a timeline that’s been undone” he asked, with airquotes for added effect, “and don’t remember, why the hell would you remember us?”

“Ah, well. Time traveler, me. You know. You’re susceptible to changes in your own timeline, but this isn’t mine. I don’t even have a time line. More like a time squiggle. Anyway. I just do. You want to know what happened or are you going to keep interrupting me?”

Sam fell silent again. The Doctor recounted everything to them. Receiving the message from Dean, the angels in the cemetery. 1908.

“Right. So how did you find us again? How did you know we'd be successful. How did I get this ring, and manage to keep it?” Sam asked. He wasn’t buying any of this.

“Ah, very clever. Yes. The ring. Timelord technology, not susceptible either. Modified Biotracker. I carved it to match those symbols you saw on the angels so it’d catch your eye. Those symbols, by the way, Gallifreyan. My language, the language of my people. Those marks on the angels, by the way, not carvings, just scars. From when we tried to kill them before we realized we couldn't. I’d say there’s plenty of angels out there with those marks. Most people don’t notice them, though, don’t look at the statues close enough- good catch, by the way” the Doctor smiled at Sam. “Anyway, biotrackers, they get hot when they’re near a time disturbance. Kind of like your mobile phone gets hot when you use it. Tracks things though time, sends back messages. You arrived back here with that ring, I get a ding on my receiver.”

Sam shook his head and looked up at Dean, who had an equally skeptical look on his face.

“Look, whatever your sellin’ here, get to the point. Why even come here and tell us all this if it’s true? We ain’t gonna remember it, as far as we’re concerned it never happened. There’s no point to this, so maybe you should just be on your way.” Dean said, motioning towards the door. 

“Oh, listen to him, I guess you _are_ the smart one then, pardon me.” the Doctor replied with a massively dramatic eyeroll. “Listen, I said it was a _modified_ biotracker, don’t you want to know why?”

Dean just blinked at the doctor and Sam shrugged.

“Ugh, humans, ok. Listen, time travel, it’s tricky, especially for newcomers.” Dean attempted to interject but the doctor cut him off “Yes, yes I know you’re not completely new to it. You told me. Still, not familiar with all the rules, the cause and effect of it all. I am. These are modified to record. Thoughts. Memories. Actions. Whatever. Well, I got your ding, Sam, back in my tardis, and along with the ding came a pretty strong message from _your_ brain,” motioning towards Dean, “You must have touched it briefly. ‘Don’t let me forget’ something like that, that’s what it was. Loud. Serious. Something happened back there, something you wanted very much to remember. Frankly I’m surprised you were smart enough to realize you might forget it but that’s not important. Anyway. This-” he held up the ring, “can help. So I just-” he waved a strange looking kind of light at it, made a strange kind of buzzing noise. “Here.”

Sam picked up the ring, slipped it on and looked at the Doctor, then to Dean, then back to the doctor. “Nothing.” Sam said.

“Of course nothing, you can’t just put it on. Memories are funny like that, hard to get them in you when you’re awake, human brains are too rigid for that. No, works like this. You have to hold it. While you’re sleeping. You get the memories back, but like a dream, that’s all. But whatever was there that you needed to know so bad? You’ll know if when you wake up. I’ll, uh, be back for it tomorrow, then?” he said, and rose to leave.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, and shrugged. Dean rolled his eyes and opened the door for the Doctor. “Uh, see ya around, man.” he said, as the Doctor exited the room.


	14. Chapter 14

“Well whaddya say Sammy, we stickin around here another day for this?” Dean asked, gesturing towards the ring, “or you wanna just head home.”

Sam pursed his lips at the word and Dean regretted saying it. Sam didn’t consider the bunker home anymore than he did this motel room. But Dean was banged up and hurting and just wanted the comfort of his own bed.

“Ah, why not? One more night here won’t kill us, right? You shouldn’t be driving too much until those ribs get a little better anyway. I’ll, uh, go get us some food.” Sam said, hopping up and heading out the door.

Dean plopped back down on the bed. This was lunacy. Stone angels. Time travel. Aliens. Magic rings. He wondered though, if it’s all been true. What was it he wanted to remember so badly? Dean felt worried, like somehow he’d done something _else_ terrible in this other timeline.

Sam went into town to get some take out, a big breakfast for Dean, some actual good coffee and not that motel crap, and hell, even some pie for after breakfast. Dean had been banged up bad yesterday, and now he was humoring Sam with this ring thing and staying another night. The least Sam could do was wrangle him up a meal fit for a king. Food was the one thing that never failed to brighten Dean’s mood.

Dean was thankful for the meal, he ate it all, and when he’d finished, he felt exhausted for some reason, like his body really had been through some crap he couldn’t remember. The passed the rest of the day comfortably enough. Sam took some of their clothes to the motel laundry mat, Dean took advantage of the down time to change the oil and air filter in the Impala, buff out some of the scrapes and scratches she’d picked up on the road.  

As night fell and the air cooled, Dean leaned up against the hood of the car and enjoyed a beer. Sam came out to join him after a while and had one too. 

“Nice night out” Dean spoke, “God, better than last night. Fuck it was hot.”

“Yeah” Sam agreed, “And you weren't even the one digging.” 

It was nice, leaning up against the car, sharing a beer like old times. Times like these, Sam could almost feel like things were getting back to normal between them.  

“So… this ring, I guess, I’m gonna turn in soon. See if what this guy said isn’t just crazy drunk rambling.”

“Yeah, well he seemed pretty convince, didn’t he? But hey, how come you get to wear it? What about me? _I_ was the one wantin' to remember something' right?” Dean was mostly joking, but he was worried. If this was real, he was afraid of Sam knowing something he didn’t. 

“Well, I suppose we could both? Hold it? I mean, we’d have to, I dunno, hold hands? Or something?” Sam laughed, but yeah, that would actually work, and whatever happened, whether this story was complete bullshit or not, they’d at least both know at the same time.

“Yeah. Well, we can do that. Haven’t held your hand, Sammy, since you were seven, but, you know. Sure. Awesome.”

Sam laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. 

So they do that, they prepare for bed, and they lie together in the same bed in their motel room, something they hadn’t done since before Sam had left for college, when there were still three Winchesters in the room. They lay side by side, and Sam placed the ring in the palm of his hand, palm facing up. Dean lay down beside him, body stiff as a board, facing straight up, and reached over to clasp Sam’s hand. He threaded their fingers together, held tight to make sure they didn’t come apart in the night. Didn’t drop this trinket that was meant to show them something new about themselves. Dean meant to make a joke about it, but when he tried to speak his throat was dry, and nothing came out. Sam fell asleep first, Dean could hear him breathing deep and steady after fifteen minutes or so, and so Dean relaxed too, felt himself slowly drifting off. 

~

Dean awoke in the morning just as he had the morning before. The bed was empty, and bright rays of sun were filtering through the blinds onto his face. He raised his hand to cover his eyes and rolled away from the light. _Wow, what a dream,_ he thought. Then. _Holy fuck._

Dean sat up in a panic, his stomach churning, his heart thundering in his chest. Fight or flight. Flight. Flight. Flight. But Sam was there, in an instant, he came from the bathroom and he was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Dean by the shoulders. Calming him.

“The dream, did you-” was all he could get out before Sam was on him, kissing him, gripping his head, holding him tightly to him. Whispering into his mouth between kisses.

“Dean, yes. Please let this be right. You remember too, right? Please tell me yes. God tell me yes or tell me to stop.” he was desperate, panting.

“Yes” Dean croaked out, and Sam jumped on top of him, pushing him back onto the bed and pressing their bodies flush together. 

But Dean remembered now. He remembered their first time, and the time after. It was _his_ turn to take charge, damnit. He flipped Sam onto his back and crawled on top. 

“Sammy. Ha! I said, didn’t I? We wouldn't forget. We’d find a way to remember. I remember Sammy.” Dean repeated “I remember. I remember” as he placed soft kisses all over Sam’s face. 

Sam reached his arms around Dean. “Thank god.”


	15. Chapter 15

Dean reached between them to run his hands up and down Sam’s body. Pulling and tugging at his clothes until Sam’s shorts were pushed down to his knees and his t-shirt was rucked up around his chest. “So gorgeous” Dean said, “so perfect.” He kissed Sam all over, and he took his time. Savored every texture, every flavor, every reaction. He took a nipple in between his lips and sucked lightly, Sam’s hands flew to his head and held him tight.

“God. Yes.”

Dean reached down to grasp Sam’s cock in his hand, he marveled at the feeling of the hard flesh in his hand, simply in awe the he was allowed to do this, that he, for all his flaws and mistakes and great big fuck ups, he’d could still have this. He pumped his hand slowly up and down on Sam’s cock and Sam writhed beneath him.

“Please, Dean, will you?”

“Will I what, baby” Dean said into Sam’s mouth before taking Sam’s lower lip into his mouth and sucking hard.

“Fuck” Sam cried out. “Fuck me. Please. Need to feel you.”

Dean was eager to oblige. He kneeled back and tapped Sam’s hip “over” he said, and Sam flipped to lie on his stomach.  

Dean scooted down between Sam’s legs, and tucked a pillow under his stomach gently. Sam was shivering on the bed already. “Relax,” Dean told him, as he placed soft kisses down the length of Sam’s back. Sam groaned as Dean continued downwards, licking a hot wet strip over the swell of his ass, then down further. Dean’s grasped Sam with two hands and spread his cheeks open before diving in to place a sloppy wet kiss right at Sam’s entrance. Sam let out a broken sort of howl as he lapped and licked at Sam’s hole. Dean could feel it fluttering and clenching beneath his tongue and god, it was filthy and hot. The primal needy noises Sam was making made Dean want to do this forever. But Sam was impatient and whispering “please. please.” into the pillow. 

Dean  placed on finger in his mouth and covered it in spit before pushing against Sam’s hole. He kept his tongue there, licking and flicking as he slowly pushed his finger inside. Sam felt so hot and so tight around Dean’s finger. After a while Dean added another finger, then another, and Sam was practically fucking himself up and down on Dean’s hand. “Dean. Now please. More.”

“Yeah, Sammy. Hang on.” Dean leaned back and retrieved his lube from the table next to the bed. He squeezed some out onto his hand and rubbed it all over his own cock, letting out a deep sigh. He looked down at Sam, and ran his lube slicked hand up and down the crack of Sam’s ass. He may have used too much, but too much was better than not enough. 

He lay over Sam’s back, completely covering, and whispered in Sam’s ear. “Sam. Don’t let me hurt you ok baby brother?”

Sam could barely speak. “Yeah” he attempted to say, nodding into the pillow. Dean propped himself up higher on one arm and reach down with the other to guide himself into Sam. It felt amazing, better than anything Dean had ever felt in his life. Better than pie and the Impala and freedom and the open road. He pushed forward slowly, so worried about causing Sam any discomfort. 

“Sammy. You?”

“Yeah Dean, yeah. More, please.” he pushed back slightly against Dean, until Dean was fully seated inside him.”Move” he growled.

Dean shuddered as he pushed forward and pulled back, the hot velvety heat of Sam wrapping around him, clinging to him as he dragged himself in and out. He wrapped his arms fully around Sam, grasping Sam’s hands that were tucked up underneath his chest. Dean kissed Sam’s neck and ear and cheek and whispered in his ear as he slowly pumped his hips. “Sammy. Amazing. You’re amazing. Perfect” just a string of words falling from his swollen lips. 

Dean felt the pressure start to build, he could feel his orgasm coming on slowly, like honey. He wanted to hold off, wanted Sam to come first, but the slick friction was too much. 

“Sammy, god yes. I can't- Sam I’m gonna come. Oh god, right in you baby, oh Sammy oh sssss...’ he hissed out as he came apart, filling Sam. His body wracked with tremors, but he held tight to Sam, placing sloppy kisses between Sam’s shoulder blades as his orgasm receded.

Dean pulled out of Sam with a gasp and pulled at him to flip him over. He places a wet kiss over Sam’s lips before sliding down the bed and taking Sam’s cock into his mouth. Sam cried out, reaching down to grasp Dean’s head, running his fingers through his hair and along his jaw. Dean brought his hand up to Sam’s hole and pushed inside, easily this time. He could feel his own come, hot and dripping from Sam’s ass as he fingered him, crooking and twisting his fingers and he sucked at Sam’s cock. Sam was incoherent, babbling sounds like _De-_ and _uhh_ as he undulated between Dean’s hand and his mouth. Sam came with a great shout and Dean swallowed him down, marveling at the way Sam twitched and fluttered around his fingers. Sam could taste himself on Dean’s lips when he crawled back up the bed to kiss him. 

They lay there side by side kissing well into the late morning. 

~

“Dean,” Sam finally spoke sometime later, “Everything? You remember all of it too? That whole year you were there?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm sorry you had to go through that. God knows you've been through so much, I-”

“Sammy,” he interrupted, “ _We've_ been through so much, both of us. You don't- you don't have to worry about me. I'm not-”

“I know, I just. I can't not worry about you, ya know? I just. I love you. God, so much.”

Dean blushed slightly and smiled, not used to formal declarations of love from his brother, or anyone else. He reached over to tuck a stray hair behind Sam's ear and leaned forward slightly for a soft kiss before speaking.

“Yeah. Sammy, I know. I- me too. All of it. So much. We're ok. We'll be ok. Together.”

Sam flipped Dean onto his back and crawled on top of him, giddy.

“How am I so lucky?” Sam whispered into the soft skin of Dean's shoulder, holding him close.


	16. Chapter 16

A little after noon they finally dragged themselves out of bed. The motel’s checkout time has passed more than an hour ago, and they knew better than to stick around too much longer if they didn’t want to end up shelling out for another night. Sam stepped out to throw their bags in the back of the Impala and dean slid into the drivers seat. 

“Just gonna go hand in the key” Sam said, gesturing to the front office as Dean started the car.

Sam stepped into the office and cleared his throat to catch the attention of the man behind the counter. The man spun around with a great flourish, clapping his hands together at the sight of Sam.

“Ah! Ready to check out then?” the Doctor asked.

“You? You’re… a motel clerk? I thought you said you were a doctor?”

“ _The_ Doctor not _a_ Doctor. Really. I believe you have something for me?”

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring, biotracker, whatever, and plopped it down on the counter. 

“And I trust it worked for you?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, it uh, it really did. Worked great. I, uh… thank you.”

“Yes, well, you’re quite welcome of course. Good job by the way, I forgot to say. I was in town to clean up those angels and you took care of them for me. I should say thanks as well. Here,” he extended his hand, “something for you.”

Sam took the object from the Doctor’s hand and turned it over in his hand. It was a small, blank, plastic card.

“Psychic credit card.” the Doctor offered. “Well, with some modifications. Credit card, key card, you get the idea. Does whatever you want it to do, really. Not quite entirely _legal_ so to speak, but I don’t think you boys’ll take issue with that, hm? Should come in handy in your line of work.” The Doctor finished speaking with a wink. “Off, now. Go. Bye.” he said, shooing Sam towards the door. 

Sam tucked the card into his back pocket and hopped into the waiting car. He turned to tell Dean all about it but Dean leaned toward him and cut him off with a soft, chaste kiss. Sam closed his eyes and leaned into it, enjoying the warmth of Dean’s plump lips against his own.

“What was that for?” Sam asked smiling when Dean pulled away.

“What, I gotta have a reason?” Dean asked, jokingly, flashing his brilliant smile as he put the car in reverse and backed out onto the road.

Sam sank further into the seat as Dean began to drive. The silence that hung between them wasn't awkward now, or uncomfortable, and Sam smiled to himself as he looked out the window, actually looking forward to the next sixteen hours they’d be on the road. Looking forward to being home. Dean reached over with his right hand and placed it over Sam’s left that was resting on his leg. Sam turned his hand over to thread their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze. Finally. Finally he had a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my gosh- if you've read all the way to the end, thank you! i wrote a draft of this REAL quick a long time ago and then completely lost interest in doing anything else with it for so long. but i'm glad i got back to it. it wasn't super polished but i just had to be done with it you know? but gracious thank you so much for reading, lemme know what you think?
> 
> xo


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